Nightingale
by SincerelyAlice
Summary: 74th Hunger Games, and Katniss volunteers to take Prim's place. But what happens when Gale goes and volunteers for Peeta, too? Here's a hint: things are a lot different from there on out. Not quite star-crossed lovers, Katniss is led to believe Gale may be in league with the D13 resistance. Peeta, back at District 12, is trying to figure it out. Can everyone still survive? KXG.
1. Something Had Sparked

**~ _NIGHTINGALE_ ~**

**By SincerelyAlice**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: SOMETHING HAD SPARKED<strong>

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><p><strong>AN:** My very first Hunger Games fanfiction! My very first fanfiction in general! :) This will be told almost entirely from Katniss Everdeen's point of view. Katniss X Gale.

Enjoy! :)

I do not own Hunger Games! Belongs to Suzanne Collins!

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><p><strong>Prelude:<strong> Gale_ and I had talked about the Hunger Games... year after year it seemed. Who could have guessed that now, me sixteen and Gale at eighteen, we'd both become a part of it._

My name is Katniss Everdeen. Do let me begin with the two words that set my story in motion... and to follow two more words that began _our _story...

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><p><em>"I volunteer!"<em>

The shrill voice that had been conjured didn't seem to have come from my mouth. It sliced through the sky. The crowd, no longer rowdy.

Today was Reaping Day. And my younger sister, Prim, had been reaped. Now I couldn't seem to meet her eyes. She stood before me, not believing what I was saying. No one could.

Then, in a much more composed voice, I affirmed to them and then again to all of Panem, "I volunteer as tribute."

Effie Trinket, the Capitol woman, was pleased; that much was evident. She was saying something to the mayor, who was also seated onstage. When the mayor looked at me, he could have only seemed sad. Could it have only been this morning that I'd come to him with Gale to sell him strawberries? Also sitting next to Effie and the mayor was Haymitch Abernathy. He was the only surviving victor of District 12 from the Hunger Games who was still alive. The other victor was long dead; Haymitch was middle-aged. In all seventy-three years of the Hunger Games, District 12 has only had two victors. Perhaps that puts things a little more into perspective.

I'd just volunteered _to die._

"…Let her come forward," said Mayor Undersee, and these were the only words I'd been able to comprehend. I walked past Prim, making my way towards him and my fate. Everyone let me walk past. I was nearly to the scaffold when I felt something come at me from behind. It was Prim again, in her little reaping blouse and skirt with her blonde braids swinging around her face. She looks up at me, her eyes round as blue saucers. She's low to the ground, and cannot physically stop me. In her teary desperation, she tugs at the folds of my dress.

"No, Katniss! No, you can't go!"

What I really had to do right now was maintain a stoic image, for I felt all too much that I was being broadcast all throughout Panem.

"Prim, let go. Let go!"

Someone is pulling my twelve year old sister away from me. That someone... I turn around to see that it's Gale. Gale's my best friend. He has her in his arms, but Prim is still kicking at him, trying to break free but in vain. In her savage terror, she accidentally rips at the collar of Gale's shirt. He ignores her... Prim is still crying, but Gale has concealed all his emotion in those dark eyes of his, the eyes that are so like mine.

"Up you go, Catnip," he whispers, with a small motion of his head towards where I was being expected. I nod to him as I take a step forward in that direction.

But before I turn back around, I give him one last look, and I see that in those same dark eyes **something had sparked, like a fire.**

After I climb up the steps of the village square, I join Effie Trinket onstage, who is beside herself in joy.

"Well bravo! That's the spirit of the games!" she cried, clapping her hands together. Finally, after years of reaping in District 12, something had happened considered "exciting". "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," I said, trying all too hard to swallow the lump that was forming in my throat. I could hear my heart thumping in my chest loudly, and my hand stayed to my chest absently. Could it be possible for all of Panem to hear?

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

But applause never came. I stood before the people that had now become _my _people. I was now representing them. The silence only meant that no one was agreeing with this, this horribly wrong thing that was the Hunger Games.

Instead, the thousands of District 12 performed this… sort of gesture. It's real old-fashioned, but it's used to say a good-bye to a loved one who has deceased. In the gesture, you bring your middle three fingers to your lips and then you hold them outwards. In this case, to me. The thousands that I've known and grown up among, saluting to me.

Altogether, I must say that I had not expected this. But perhaps they had remembered my father, recognized me from my frequent appearances at the Hob…or they had known Prim. She'd become something of a common sight, bumbling about the town. She made an impression on just about everyone.

Taken so aback, I wanted to cry, although I knew that I could not. I run my fingers over the folds of the dress, where Prim had creased it. But before I'm given the chance to tear up, Haymitch bounds onto stage, and he is very obviously intoxicated out of his good mind. When he speaks you can hear the slur in his voice.

"Look at her. Look at this one!"

Haymitch throws his arm around my shoulders, and I have to hold myself up straighter for he's stronger than he seems. The drunken man continues, and he is shouting although I'm directly next to him. I can just barely distinguish the beer on his breath above the smell of his overall stink.

"I like her! Lots of…" And then Haymitch pauses, almost as if trying to find the right word to finish his thought. I stare at him incredulously, unable to offer one. Was it _HEART_?

"…Spunk! …More than you!" And then Haymitch releases me from his vice grip and bounds for the front of stage with startling precision considering how drunk he was. Each step he makes is like thunder shaking at the stage.

"More than you!" he yells again, but this time his finger is pointed towards a camera.

Is he speaking towards all of us? Or is he actually projecting his opinion live, all the way back to the Capitol? But before anyone can make a move, he staggers, and as his mouth opens to continue, he falls forward off of the stage. He is knocked out unconscious.

Although publicly disgracing himself and District 12, I was relieved that the cameras had found their new point of focus. I used this precious piece of time to completely compose myself. I would not cry. I fix up my posture and systemically the emotion drains from my face. This is how it should be. I look far off into the distance. From here I can see where Gale and I had been, out in the woods only this morning. We had talked about running away…it was now that I'd known that I'd made the right decision in not agreeing with Gale on this. If I had, it would have been Prim up here with no one to take her place.

Haymitch was being taken away by paramedics. I watched them warily. Would they take me too, if my heart stopped right here? Effie Trinket was trying to regain control of the audience.

"What an…_exciting _day!" she cried, in that ridiculous accent of hers, and then she tried to straighten her just as ridiculous wig. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

This seems to be about the only thing that could stun the audience back into silence.

I watch as Effie Trinket makes her way over to the ball that contains all the slips of paper with every boy. It has the name of every boy between twelve and eighteen in the district in it. One hand at her head, keeping the curls in place, her hand reached for the second slip of paper that would determine which one of these boys would join me in the Hunger Games. I eyed this Capitol woman with the utmost disdain, from her bubblegum wig to the long fingernails in the same sickly shade of pink which, she didn't realize, sealed two fates.

"Peeta Mellark!"

I recognized that name from somewhere, and, my eyes meeting his own, I remembered. He was…he was…

"I volunteer!"

I hear my words again. But by the second time, the volume level escalates to as far as the forest. Both the boys and the girls, who had been separated, were melding together in front of the podium. The boy who was called previous, Peeta, had been almost to us. He was eaten away at by the crowds, and just as quickly he was forgotten.

Gale emerged, a blue fire ablaze in his eyes.

"I volunteer as tribute."

Immediately there were cries of outrage from all the girls, it really was no surprise. My face, previously devoid of all emotion, now must have have worn a look like nothing other than shock. Sort of a _What the HECK do you think you're doing?_

"E-excellent!" said Effie again, taking this as a second of pleasant surprises. _Two _volunteers in one district, in a district that never had those. If Haymitch had referred to me having "spunk", well than Gale had just that as well.

It's gotten so rowdy, a few Peacekeepers descended upon the people. I'm unable to contain myself. I use the lapse in order to meet Gale halfway at the stairs.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hissed at him, not particularly wanting our exchange to be on television. I kept my voice low, although there was still so much noise around us. "Volunteering for…for Peeta? Why?"

"I'm going with you," said Gale, keeping just as quiet as me, but his voice was steady.

"Only one of us can make it back home," I reinstated, not leaving his eyes. I clasped his hand tight. Gale just shook his head. I couldn't convince him otherwise, and really, what was the use even if I could? He'd volunteered, and one thing I knew for sure was that he couldn't just change his mind now. He was the fellow tribute, whether I liked it or not.

And I did _not _like it.

"But…who's going to take care of Prim and…and the others?" I asked. I found Prim, who was clinging to my mother tightly. I also thought of Gale and his family of five. We'd sworn to each other that if one of us had been reaped, the other would help to take care of that person's family. What had happened to make Gale go back on his word?

"I have a feeling they'll be fine," said Gale, and I followed his gaze towards where Peeta was still standing. Peeta nodded curtly, almost as if there was now some sort of mutual understanding between them. And then Peeta returned back into the crowd, back to where his family was. His mother, who was crying, but moving about fretfully as there was a confusion in the crowd. And then there was Mr. Mellark, the baker, who was also in tears. Peeta's other older brothers were surrounding him. At least one of them could have taken Peeta's place, but it had been Gale to do so instead.

I knew that as long as the Mellarks could help it, Gale's and I's families would be taken care of. They were now somehow indebted to us. I didn't particularly like this, but what could I do? This was the current predicament. And at least Prim would still be fed...

A few gunshots were finally heard, and the crowd gathered was finally hushed, and into a stony silence. I don't know if anyone lay dead, but if someone did I could not see over everything that was still happening... As Gale and I made our way back onto the stage, my mind was in jumbles and my vision was so short-sighted. The Hunger Games was to the death. It didn't seem as if there was an favorable outcome. May the odds ever be in your favor? It didn't seem as if I had any odds...

"And your name is...?" asked Effie Trinket, but into the microphone. She ate up Gale with her hungry eyes.

"Gale Hawthorne," he replied evenly. More screams from those below us, but they were quickly quieted by the Peacekeepers around them. If people knew me, they knew him. And what we were most known for were being the providers, we brought meat into this district.

The three-finger motion was given once more. Gale held no expression, just looked out into the faces of our people.

The mayor went on with a speech, about the Treaty of Treason. When all the districts had tried to rebel against the Capitol, the attempt had failed. The thirteenth district had been annihilated completely. Now, as a yearly reminder, the Capitol hosts the country-wide Hunger Games. "Peace comes with a price." Really, it is that yearly reminder the absolute and utter control the Capitol holds over the twelve remaining districts. Of course the mayor doesn't say this, but we all know it.

When Mayor Undersee had finished, he motioned that Gale and I were to shake hands. To accept him as my adversary. I went forward to hold out my hand for him, but Gale didn't move from where he stood. There was an unmistakable silence in the air in that second when he just refused to move, and no one dared utter a word. With a very subtle pleading look from me, he finally stepped forward to take my hand in his. His grip was so strong. The Panem anthem began to play, as that second was becoming forgotten, and Effie Trinket's voice rang out above the noise, "Let the 74th Hunger Games begin!"

But I paid no more attention to all that. I had mine on Gale, trying to figure out what were in his motives. He noticed me watching him, but he turned away to scowl in the distance. He was still surly from before, having to shake my hand.

Gale hated being controlled, as he would surely hate being in these Games and playing the part of a piece. I suppose that when he said, "I volunteer as tribute", he must not have been in the right mind. Why had he done it really?

Because he wouldn't let me go at it alone?

Gale is looking back out over to the forest, where we'd spent the morning. The two of us, we would never again return to the clearing in the forest.

Gale and I had talked about this year after year it seemed. Who could have guessed that now, me sixteen and Gale at eighteen, we'd both become a part of it.

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><p><strong>[AN]** Direct similarities between this and Suzanne Collin's Hunger Games will end right about here.

So what do you think? :) Please remember to review! I will update with Chapter 2 soon! ^-^

_"The names will vary, the names they may change,_  
><em>But the game, the game it stays the same."<em>


	2. For All I Am Worth

**~ NIGHTINGALE ~**

**By SincerelyAlice**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 2: FOR ALL I AM WORTH<br>**

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><p><strong>[AN] **Hey there! ^-^ Thank you all for your patience, Chapter 2 is hereeeee! :D

I read all your reviews, and I have to say thank you for all that too!

I didn't mean to take so long on this chapter, but it ended up taking a long time. I literally have the book open in front of me so as to make this story as accurate as possible, keeping the characters as in character as possible.

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><p><strong>IMPORTANT NOTE: I went back and edited some of Chapter 1. I had completely forgotten to have Effie Trinket ask for Gale's name! That's really all I changed besides a few minor errors.<strong>

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><p>As soon as the Panem national anthem was finished, Gale and I were led into the Justice Building by the Peacekeepers in white. Neither of us had ever been inside before. I also don't think either of us could have thought we would ever set foot in the Justice Building. My insides seemed to be revulsed by the ritziness of it all; from the bloody red carpets my shoes sunk into (it was like quicksand; I kept up the pace) to the golden drapes adorning the wide windows. Wide they were, but not one was open.<p>

"Smells like money," said Gale, It did. His mind must have been on something along the same lines of mine. It was only typical. Having both grown up in the Seam, we were unused to such wealthy displays. I'd thought my dress shoes to be "nice"; looking down I could only figure the distance of carpet I'd tread had cost ten times more than they had. **For all I am worth**, I did not belong here.

When we reached an unlocked, vacant room, I was told that was where I would sit and wait for friends and family to arrive. That's right. Now was the time given to tributes to exchange their goodbyes with their last few loved ones before they were sent away to the Capitol. I still found it difficult connecting the word "tribute" with my own…

Gale was being sent somewhere else, but I didn't even get the chance to wave him off, perhaps send a small smile of encouragement his way. But that was okay, I guess; I'd be seeing him an hour from now. I sat on the sofa and, like the carpet, I sunk into it. Immediatally I stumbled back onto my feet. Was paranoia already working its way into my mind? Did I really feel as if I'd get eaten up by it all?

I took a deep breath before sitting back down, although lightly this time. My palms were sweaty against the soft velvet of the sofa. This was velvet, I knew the fabric. The collar of the dress I was wearing was also made out of velvet. Suddenly it felt suffocating as well; I undid two buttons from the top.

It was this place that did this, the perfume that I was breathing. But I willed myself to inhale, this was surely still oxygen. From this point onwards, I had to be fierce, I had to be determined, I had to be anything but what I was now. Inhale…exhale.

It wasn't too long before Prim and my mother entered together. Prim bound forward, flinging herself forcefully into my arms, and I had to grip the wooden arm of the sofa to keep myself up. She was hugging me real tight, but she wasn't crying anymore. She was trying so hard to be strong for me. I pat her blonde hair as she made herself more comfortable in my lap.

My mother came over towards us and then sat beside me. She brings her arms around me and around Prim, and for a few minutes no one has anything to say. No one wants to say something to admit to what is already happening, to lower their arms and then to let go. I can't blame them.

Finally, it is I that speaks. I remind the two of them what must be done while I'm gone. Not if I'm gone, I say it as while I'm gone. They also wouldn't have Gale, I tell them.

What was a good thing was that my mother had recently opened up a small apothecary business in the Seam. She'd gotten a huge turn-out actually, herbal medicines being sold in a place that so desperately needed it. Prim helped her out a lot.

Also, the two of them could more easily get by with Prim's goat. Gale and I had bought her one for her tenth birthday. Her name was Lady, and she was a sick little thing when we'd first gotten her. But Prim and my mother had worked hard- day and night- nursing it back to health. The man who'd sold her to Gale and I hadn't thought Lady would live much longer, but she was now in pristine condition. And she'd paid for herself many times over with her milk.

Prim's not like me, and by that I mean that she doesn't hunt. Once, a year or two ago I tried taking her out into the woods on one of my daily excursions. All I can say is that it didn't go over very well. Even _aiming_ at an animal seemed to frighten her, where she'd unconsciously let out a small squeal sending my arrow at a tree ten yards over from my intended target.

Prim was a healer, like my mother, and so not a fighter. The Hunger Games was no place for her, especially at twelve years old. Just thinking about her in that kind of situation I couldn't fathom. I didn't have to think about it though, because I'd taken her place.

When I'd done telling them all I needed to, I turned to my mother.

"Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" I asked, gripping her arm hard, almost harder than I'd meant to.

My mother nodded, taken aback by the intensity of my words, my grip, my eyes.

"You can't leave again."

By again, I was referring to those months after my father died, after he was killed in a mining explosion.

"I know. I won't. I couldn't help what-"

"Well, you have to help it this time," I said, and all the distaste I'd felt towards her since my father died seemed to be seeping, like poison, into my words. "You can't go and clock out, you can't leave Prim on her own."

I still can't forget those bedridden mornings into nights…her laying there, seemingly deaf to Prim's cries. The blank looks Prim received, when what she'd needed more than anything was someone to tell her it was going to be okay.

But no. That was me. And maybe Prim was, but I definitely wasn't so quick to forgive.

"There's no me now to keep you both alive."

The one drying Prim's tears, the one forcing our mother to swallow food, the one who held the house up, had been me. I didn't want me, I didn't want Prim to be sent away to a community home. And so I did everything to keep us in that house.

"It doesn't matter what happens. Whatever you see on the screen. You have to promise me you'll fight through it!"

By the time I'd concluded my spiel, my voice had risen to shouting. My fists were clenched at my sides, and I didn't yet unclench them.

"I was ill," said my mother, now moved to anger as I was. "I could have treated myself if I'd had the medicine I have now."

I unclenched my fists. Prim had shrunk into herself amidst all the yelling. I dismissed the hostility for her sake and my own, I could no longer argue with my mother over this. The last trace of bitterness left me with me with these words.

"Then take it. And take care of _her_!"

"I'll be alright, Katniss," Prim said, her hands reaching for my face. They're small and they're soft, not yet worn by life, a very obvious contrast to the bruises and blisters that define my own.

"But you have to take care, too!" Prim continued in a louder voice, while pressing her hands harder against my cheeks. She'd noticed my distraction. "You're so fast and brave. Maybe you can win."

"Maybe," I reply to her, although I very well knew my chances were little to none. Some districts, the wealthier ones, sent in tributes who'd trained all their lives for the Games. These were the kinds of people I'd be pitted against. What did I know about fighting? What did I know about _anything_?

"Or maybe Gale will come back home," I said, more to myself than to Prim.

"I don't want Gale, I…" said Prim instantly, and then she cut herself short almost as if realizing she'd gone and said the wrong thing. Her blue eyes are downcast, but she refuses to let tears come, and she let go of the handfuls of my dress she'd grabbed in her sudden outburst. "I mean, of course I love _him_, but you…you…I want _you_ back home, Katniss. I'd rather… have you."

Prim, being thrust into the middle, having to hope for one to win over the other, having to hold back tears. And I'd have to go and do that, put my survival before Gale's… These Games…! No. I couldn't be going and thinking like that. Here I was, telling my mother not to give up when I was considering doing the same. I had to fight, I had to try, for Prim.

"I'll try my hardest then," I said to Prim, now taking her hands in mine. I squeezed them gently. "I swear it." And I make this promise just in the knick of time too, because a Peacekeeper is coming at the door, meaning that my time with them is up.

Desperately we all reach for each other, as we feel the last grains of sand hit the bottom of the hour glass. I'm telling them I love them, and they are saying that back to me. Prim and my mother must be ordered that they leave, and practically shoved out the door. Even then they are telling me how they much they love me, screaming it until I can't hear it anymore.

And now they're gone, and it hits me hard that that may have been the last time I'd ever see them again. Why did I have to go and get angry at my mother, go and scare Prim? I clutched at the velvet pillow as if it was the Capitol itself, directing my rage towards the puppeteers who held us all by the strings.

I almost wanted to wrip the pillow to pieces, except I had no fingernails. They were gnawed to the nub, everyone in the Seam had these nails, except many were blackened from working with the coal. I then again thought of Effie Trinket's fingernails, painted fuschia with not a speckle of dirt. I sigh, put down the pillow and calm myself.

The next person to come in is Mr. Mellark. He's the baker, Peeta's father. A big man, and he sure did look a lot like Peeta. He knew me from trading at the Hob, and he knew Prim even better. It was only this morning that Gale and I had sat on the hill, eating his bread that Gale had gotten for a squirrel. It seemed years ago from now.

Mr. Mellark had in his hands a white cardboard box. When he noticed me giving the box a look over, he smiled warmly at me.

"It's a cake. Peeta frosted it himself. Thought you might want to have it."

"A whole cake?" I asked incredously, standing from my seat. I went over to where Mr. Mellark was standing. He popped the lid of the box so that I could see the cake myself. It was iced beautifully; the design was an intricate illustration of a field of bright yellow dandelions.

"I can't," I told Mr. Mellark, closing the lid. It was too much. "Not this. Br-bring it to my mother and Prim, alright? I'll be fed plenty in the Capitol before I go into the Games, I know that."

Prim and I had always, whenever we strolled by the bakery, looked into the shop window and gazed in wonder, our noses pressed against the glass, at all the iced cakes on display. They were set out for holidays. Prim especially loved them, thought them to be so pretty, but of course we could never have been able to afford one. So it was Peeta who did those? We'd also seen Peeta lifting trays, hauling bags of flour, who would have thought that along with having big, strong hands they were capable of creating fine design, along with having brute strength he had an eye for art?

Mr. Mellark looked sad when he spoke again. He set the box on a small table. "Gale wouldn't take the cake, either. Our family…we wanted to, again, express our thanks to him somehow. We thought maybe _you'd_ at least take the cake."

Mr. Mellark must have just been to see Gale.

"We…We'll be taking extra care of your families," said Mr. Mellark. "I always loved your sister's goat cheese. And we really can't thank you enough."

"Your gratitude is received!" I said, trying to smile. "Gale knows."

"I think I have to give a word of thanks also. Not just for your friend – he is a good friend of yours, isn't he? – obviously taking Peeta's place, but I think…well… I think my wife has finally gone and seen how close she'd gotten to losing her son. I think things will be getting better at home. What I mean to say is, not just our son was saved, I think our whole family was."

"No need to thank me," I said, putting up my hands. It wasn't me that deserved all this. "It was all Gale's doing."

That's right. It was_ all_ Gale's doing.

"Maybe so," said the baker, finally sitting on the opposite chair. He let out a sigh as he sat down. He took the box with the sheet cake and stared into it pensively. "Maybe so."

Mr. Mellark wasn't one for talking, and so until the Peacekeepers came back as his escort out he did not say anything more.

Madge Undersee comes in afterwards. Yes, Undersee as in Mayor Undersee. She's the mayor's daughter, and a classmate of mine. I'd seen her just this morning when Gale and I had gone to sell strawberries to the mayor.

Gale had gone and insulted her, almost blaming her because of the unfair reaping system. He was right in what he'd said, but it really wasn't Madge's fault the system was how it was. Once you're eligible to enter the reaping (at twelve years old) you also have the option of signing up for a year of tessarae in exchange for your name being put into the reaping another time. Tessarae is a thin sort of grain you can use to make a flat bread, not particularly appetizing but it was food and it was _something_. And to many people, a year's worth of grain and oil was worth the risk, worth the rolling of the loaded dice. This is available to all districts, although this being a poorer district it predominates here, especially in the Seam. And so the Games go on, at the ever-expense of the poor.

And so you could see why Gale could come to resent someone like Madge, who's never had to worry about putting dinner on the table, someone who would never have to sign up for tessarae. Gale had his name in an accumulative forty-two times by now, having yearly opted for the meager amounts of tessarae for his entire family. "What can you have?" Gale had said, standing before Madge. "Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old."

You'd think that Madge would be a snob, but she's actually very quiet at school. If anything she was considered a bit of a social outcast from her status alone. We always end up working together on assignments, running into each other, eating lunch at the same table, sitting next to each other in class… it's not like we're best friends but we kind of look out for each other in our own quiet ways. And we're both fine with it.

Madge walks towards me where I'm sitting in the sofa, and I stand to meet her. She is still wearing her pink dress with the ribbons, her blonde hair all done up. There are just a few loose strands that fall in front of her face.

"They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena," said Madge, in her even tone. Her hand goes to her pink dress as she pulls at something. "One thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?"

It's the golden pin that she'd been wearing, that Gale and I had noticed earlier. She held it for me to see. I hadn't had a good look at it then, but seeing it so close I could see that it was a little bird with its wide wings spread, the tips of the feathers touching the golden ring around it.

"Your pin?" I ask, not wanting to touch it, taint it with my dirtied hands. The pin was a gleaming gold, presumably priceless. I hadn't even thought about the district token. Every female tribute is to wear something as a symbol of their district.

"Here, I'll put it on your dress, all right?" says Madge, noticing my hesitation. She pins the small bird to my blue dress, right underneath the collar. I'm still unsure of what to say in response.

"Promise you'll wear it into the arena, Katniss? Promise?"

"Yes," I say to Madge, and this promise seems a bit easier to keep than my last one.

Madge manages the smallest of smiles. "And tell Gale I send...I send him the best of regards."

Then Madge gives me a kiss on the cheek and leaves, giving me not a moment to ask about this particular request. I watch Madge as she goes. Hmm. Perhaps all this time, she'd really thought of me as something more…as a friend perhaps…

I look at the little bird again. I see that it's a mockingjay. There's a window in this dismal room, but it's locked shut. Had tributes tried to escape? I was like the mockingjay, a mockingjay trapped in an impervious cage made out of gold.

Next to come in is Hazelle, Hazelle Hawthorne. She's Gale's mother, and from the way she held herself I know that she'd just been to see her son. Her eyes were red and it seems that between leaving him and coming to see me she'd only had the short interval of the tread from across the hall she'd only been able to wipe away a few stray tears. When she sees me she smiles nonetheless.

Hazelle works as a washerwoman, collecting and cleaning clothes between caring for her four children. The youngest one, I believe, is only four years old. Posy. Hazelle's practically my second mother. Many times when I've been over Gale's, for a cup of tea or just for an ear to listen. Gale's father had died years ago, in the same mining accident that had taken my own father. That's when the similarities between my mother and Hazelle ended, on that fateful day. I think I knew it early as then.

Hazelle is strong. Yes, Gale did have to take up hunting in order to support the household. But aside from that Hazelle took on everything else. Hazelle never gave up. She opens her arms up to me, and I rise from the sofa and I run into them. I come to her. I would never say that I wished I'd had her as a mother instead- I'd really lost the need to have one. I had to assume that role in my own home. But it was still nice having a womanly figure when the only other woman in my life wasn't substantial in the least.

Being in her arms made me feel like I was home again, in a place that so was not. She smelled of maple.

Hazelle knew all this too, I think. And maybe, just maybe, she thought of me almost as another daughter.

When we finally pulled away from each other, I saw that she was crying again. I didn't want her crying anymore, not over me. I brushed away some of her dark curly hair and some fresh tears. Still a few clung to her long eyelashes.

"You really are a lovely girl, Katniss," breathed Hazelle, gazing deeply, lovingly, into my eyes. Where had that come from? I must have looked confused.

"I wish you all of luck," Hazelle continued, giving me another tight squeeze before she was led out by a Peacekeeper. She wasn't crying anymore, she seemed almost at peace with herself. I muttered a word of thanks, but by then she was out the door, she couldn't have heard it…

All Hazelle's visit seemed to do was shake me, and I clutched my forehead. _I won't blackout._

_How could she wish me all of luck? That would be wishing Gale none of it!_

I stumbled back onto the couch, I had to maintain control of my thoughts. Just had to… I couldn't lose myself this early…this won't stop, 'til I say so.

This, I felt with complete finality, was my last visitor. In walked Peeta, the baker's son, the tribute that had almost been going to the Hunger Games with me. Perhaps he'd spoken to Gale, but I saw no reason why he'd come to speak with me.

"Katniss, I think you can win," said Peeta. Like Madge, at least he was being direct. That much was appreciated.

But that still didn't change the fact that I completely disagreed with him. I just shook my head, still trying to regain the feeling in my hands. They were balled in tight fists at my sides, wripping at the velvet of the sofa.

"No!" cried Peeta, standing up abruptly. His outburst caused me to very visibly flinch, but release my grip on the velvet. My knuckles went from white back to their normal color as the blood flowed back into them.

I knew Peeta from around, saw him around school and town. He was generally easy-going. He was also incredibly kind, from what I'd gathered about him. What I'd never seen was him so angry.

"No," said Peeta again, but now he's lowered his voice after seeing my reaction to speaking so harshly. "I know you can. My dad...he buys your meat. He's always complimenting your catches, saying how your arrow always goes right through the eye."

I don't say anything. Gale was a better hunter than me, and the baker bought his meat just as often.

Peeta continues, thinking that I was actually considering his words. "I've seen you…I've seen you with a bow and arrow. From the apple tree in my backyard. Oh, and Gale also. Our district definitely has a chance this year."

"You can't root for both of us," I mutter under my breath, and you can't miss the hostility in my voice. My hands are back at the fabric again.

Peeta doesn't get angry again. Instead he just sighs. He tries to think a few seconds before speaking again, and I'm shocked at what comes out of his mouth instead of something about my comment.

"I still can't believe…I still can't…" Peeta's eyes are blue as any sky, but now they look as if they've clouded over. "I wouldn't have done well in these Games anyway."

"What do you mean?" I ask. Better yet, what was he getting at?

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm a _baker's son_! Can you imagine…me winning? First victory by rolling pin!"

"Peeta…"

"No," said Peeta, and his voice has resumed that old tone again. He begins walking towards the door; he's said enough. "He was right."

"Who was right?" I asked, standing to my feet. I have to catch myself from going after him, shaking him by the shoulders and demanding an answer when he didn't give me one. "Wait! Peeta!"

But by now there's a group of Peacekeepers assembled at the door. But that meant…no! My hour couldn't be up already!

"Goodbye, Katniss," said Peeta. I can just see him over the shoulder of one of the Peacekeepers, they were what separated the two of us. His mouth opens as if he is going to say something, but then he closes it as he turns back around.

"G-goodbye?"

This was goodbye?

A second glance from Peeta and I could clearly see that his eyes were struck with stone cold conviction. He looked me over as one would somebody already dead to them.

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><p><strong>[AN] **Thank you for reading! What do you think of Peeta?

Don't tell me you didn't laugh at that rolling pin part...

**Thanks again! -Alice**


	3. Say the Word

**~ NIGHTINGALE ~**

**By SincerelyAlice  
><strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 3: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON [WORDS WE COULDN'T SAY]<strong>

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><p><strong>ANOTHER NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I had to reupload this chapter, there was some sort of error before...<strong>

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><p><strong>[AN] **Chapter 3 is here! I tried to get it out as fast as I could!

**VERY IMPORTANT NOTE! THE TITLE OF THIS STORY HAS BEEN CHANGED from "I Volunteer As Tribute" to "Nightingale." When I named this story "I Volunteer As Tribute" I'd had no intent on keeping it like that.**

Do tell me what you think of the title ^-^

I used Peeta's point of view for the beginning of this chapter. I don't plan on switching POV's very often, but I really wanted to have it from Peeta's.

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><p><strong>Peeta's POV<strong>

"I'm sorry Peeta, but he wouldn't take it, no matter what I said."

My father placed the white box in my hands. Oh, right. The cake. I set it down on the kitchen table before I put my head back in my hands. I was back home, the tribute train had left an hour ago. My mother and my older brothers had enough mind to give me some space; I really wasn't in such a good mood since I'd gone to see Katniss…

"Wait…_he_?" I asked, thinking that I must have misheard my father. When he didn't respond, I knew that the worst of my suspicions had been confirmed. "No, Dad, the cake was for _Katniss_! Not Gale!"

I felt myself blush at how I'd decorated the cake. Gale must have seen it.

"Well she wouldn't take it either," said my father, confused. He, like the rest of my family, thought that I was so incredibly indebted to Gale to the point that I'd being sewing his name on pillows and we'd be revering him for the rest of our lives as our family's savior.

But I knew the real reason he volunteered to take my place.

Infuriated, I swiped my arm across the table, sending the cake box to the floor. As if this wasn't enough, I stood up and stomped it flat until it bled frosting from the sides. The scene inside was destroyed, the dandelions trampled at my feet. The field, might as well have been set on fire.

My father didn't say anything as I had my fit of rage, instead he just stood by and watched. When I'd finally tired, I sat back down, now covering my face with my hands. I was ashamed at my anger, and then I was ashamed at my utter useleness. And tonight I'd have to be watching everything over.

"You love her, don't you?" asked my father. He knew. He's always known.

I got down on my hands and knees. I'd clean up the mess I'd made. Then my father and I could make another cake, another two, send them to Gale and Katniss's families. In the weeks to come, well, we'd made it clear that we'd practically support them ourselves.

"More than he does," I finally answered, lifting the lid but seeing no sign that there had once been something beautiful underneath. But maybe it never had existed in the first place.

And who could better protect her?

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><p><strong>Katniss's POV<strong>

I finally emerge from the shower, and I can't help but think of how nice it had felt. I'd never taken a shower before. Back at home, you boil water and then fill a basin with it.

Effie had told me to be ready for dinner in an hour. I'd wasted a lot of time and water, and so I didn't have much time to wander around idly. I was on the tribute train, racing along the tracks and towards the Capitol. District 12 was the farthest district, but we'd be arriving in less than a day.

I had been given a bedroom, bathroom, and a place to dress. The tribute train was even more upscale than the Justice Building had been. I have to adjust to my surroundings, the Capitol would be even worse in that sense.

All the drawers that had been designated to me were filled with neatly folded clothes. I open them up to see that the majority are so absolutely ridiculous that I wouldn't even know to put it on. I choose literally the most basic outfit I can find- green pants and a darker green shirt. I sat back upon the bed and braided back my long hair before it can dry. Somehow this familiar ritual is comforting to me, and I lose myself in my fingers, sewing, doing their work.

I hadn't seen Gale since we'd been thrown together at the Train Station. And it's not like you can get a word in there- there'd been flashing cameras everywhere, completely dominating my field of vision. I'd only gotten a quick glance at Gale really, and even then I couldn't tell what was on his mind. If anything, he looked utterly unfazed by it all. But then again, you had to be like that in front of these people. It's a good thing I hadn't been crying during my visits, it would have shown up in the pictures.

"Knock knock," sang Effie Trinket, who then came into my bedroom without my actual admittance. She threw me a smile white as pearls but her eyes were taking in the green apparel and it was more than clear that she didn't approve. Not enough pink, perhaps? But that was too bad. Once I began making appearances in the Capitol, I would be getting dressed up in things similar to what I found in my drawers. For now I was going to stay with my green, and exhibit my free will as long as I could in these conditions.

"I'm coming," I told Effie, just tying up the braid at the tip. I stood from the bed before I caught a glint of gold out of the corner of my eye. My blue reaping dress, lying in a heap near the door, still had the mockingjay pin. I decided on a spur of the moment to wear it with my outfit.

My father had loved mockingjays. There weren't a lot in District 12, but when the two of us would venture out into the woods we always came across them. My father would always whistle or sing to them. I could never sing after he died. I did only when Prim was sick and she asked it of me, which wasn't very often.

When all the districts had rebelled against the Capitol, the Capitol had created new species, called muttations or "mutts" for short. One such species was the jabberjay. The jabberjay was a bird (all were male) that could listen in on human conversation and relay it back to people waiting at the Capitol, like some sort of spies. They were real useful recorders until the resistance realized just how the Capitol received private information. Then the rebels just fed the jabberjays lies, easy as that.

The Capitol was infuriated; they had no more use for the bird. And so they sent all the jabberjays into the wild and expected them to die out. Only they didn't die out. They mated with female mockingbirds and thus the mockingjay was bred and born.

Mockingjays can no longer enunciate words in human speech like the jabberjay can but they can imitate the sounds of song, both high notes and low. They could sing back whole songs if you wanted to teach them, and if they liked your voice enough. Well my father would sing and all the mockingjays around us would all fall silent. His voice was loud and clear and beautiful. After he finished, they would sing his song back to him. I returned to the woods a week after the accident, even though I only pressed my face against the fence, and I could hear a few mockingjays were still singing his songs. I had to leave at once. Months later was when I actually started going into the woods on my own. I saw the mockingjays still, and I wondered if just one remembered the notes my father had sung.

Wearing the mockingjay pin, I felt closer to my father then I ever have, ever since he died. I'd have to remember to wear it into the arena, like Madge would have wanted.

Effie Trinket led me to where we'd be eating dinner, down a narrow corridor. Once we'd gotten to the dining room, I saw that there was a table spread, already with appetizers laid out. The train and its tracks were so sleek that the plates didn't even rattle. This certainly wasn't a coal train.

I saw Gale, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table. His hair still looked wet, like me he must have just taken a shower. He was also wearing different clothes, a long sleeved black shirt and oversized gray sweatpants. He gave me a small smile when I entered with Effie. He backed up out of his the chair and stood up to say something to me.

"Katn-"

"Gale, do you know where Haymitch is?" Effie interrupted, pulling at her frilly skirt. Gale turned to the Capitol woman, blinked twice before regathering his thoughts. There was slight disgust in his eyes, but he quickly lost the look. He just shrugged his shoulders, in answer to Effie's question.

"Said something about a nap," he replied indifferently, sitting back down again and picking up a silver spoon. He started up at a bowl of a thick, carrot soup. I see. So perhaps he would speak to me when Effie wasn't around? Or was this was how it would always be now? In the woods we could always say whatever we liked...

"Oh ah…alright," said Effie. Effie went and took the empty chair next to Gale. He gave me a significant look as she did this, raised an eyebrow and this time I was the one who shrugged my shoulders. I sat on the other side of them.

"Did you see, Katniss?" said Gale excitedly. "The pillows, they have feathers inside! Did you ever think-?"

"Yes, yes," said Effie, interrupting again. "The pillows are stuffed with groosling feathers, imported straight from District 11, they-"

I laughed when I saw the expression on Gale's face, and then as he imitated Effie's movements and gestures. And Effie was too into what she was saying to notice, and she took my smiling and laughter as genuine interest because it came at what she considered to be correct intervals.

Three stories later, the first course arrived. It was...extravagant, and every subsequent course was like that. It was all really rich stuff, nothing like we'd ever eaten before. I knew what Gale was like when he ate, and it was real funny watching Effie try to talk with him through it anyway.

"Gale!" cried Effie, who laid down her glass of water on the table firmly to try to catch his attention. She wasn't eating much, just had a half-touched garden salad in front of her. We'd spent the first two courses listening to her blather on to us (well, mostly to Gale) about what it would be like (_deliiightful!_) once we got to the Capitol.

"Mmm?" Gale mumbled, who was much more focused on his lamb chops and mashed potatoes than whatever trite matter Effie was going on about now.

"Nevermind," said Effie, somehow still remaining patient. But she didn't have to tell him never to mind, he was already eating again.

"But wait, Gale" she continued, now looking as if she'd remembered something. "I did have one question. I've been meaning to ask, and I'm sure everyone's wondering this…why did you volunteer now, dear?"

This, this was the question. I looked up from what I was eating so that I could hear this. Gale swallowed what he was eating, and was just about to answer when…

"Is it suppertime?"

The three of us turn to see that Haymitch had made his way into the dining compartment, but he's barely got any balance to him. He looked to be just as drunk as he'd been at the reaping.

"Haymitch!" screeches Effie, who's just enough had it with him and his seemingly inability to stay sober. In her hot pink pumps, she strides over to where Haymitch is. _Clank, clank, clank_. "I will not stand for this behavior any longer! It's disgusting!"

Haymitch holds out his arm to her as he staggers, and Effie backs up as if she couldn't have the likes of him touch her. It's near impossible to understand what he's saying, even from over here, but he sounds angry.

"I will not go through another year of this, you know..."

Gale and I exchange a knowing look from the table. Having eaten enough, I was ready to listen to what Gale had to say...after all, we hadn't really talked since the reaping. And an important part of our relationship was our sound communication.

We rise, soundlessly, from where we're sitting. We can still hear the two of them at it as we make our way to the back of the tribute train, and we are able to leave unnoticed.

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><p><strong>[AN] **Thank you for reading! Yes, this chapter was a bit shorter. But I wanted to get it out as soon as possible. Hopefully Chapter 4 will come out soon.

I thought Gale was being cute about the feather comment :3

PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEWWWW! I love getting feedback, especially this early on. It may affect future decisions :)


	4. You Will Fall

**~ NIGHTINGALE ~**

**By SincerelyAlice**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 4: YOU WILL FALL [if you jump]<strong>

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><p><strong>[AN] **Probably considered a "filler" chapter, but worthwhile all the same. :) It's just a little short.

Thanks again, my readers, for your lovely reviews! =3 All are muchly appreciated. And I'm glad you like the new title. I think I do too.

I wanted to get this out for all you. Who's seeing the Hunger Games movie tomorrow? :) I'm going at midnight, for the premiere, and I've got to say that I'm really excited! I hope the movie really does Suzanne Collin's book justice! And especially Gale! :) (he is my favorite character if you hadn't guessed.)

I also just listened to the Hunger Games soundtrack. It's really very good! I'm loving the Civil Wars :)

[another note:] I was rereading Book 1 when I saw that Peeta dipped his roll in his mug of hot chocolate on the tribute train. Went to my local Dunkin Donuts on St. Patrick's Day and decided to try that! Had to say I wasn't disappointed Peeta :) Tried it with a Cinnamon raisin bagel too 333 love love love recommended for you all!

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><p>"Seems Effie's got a crush on you," I say breathlessly, and then I turn my head round as we run to make sure she wasn't actually following after us. We'd run as fast as we could from the dining compartment as to make sure we weren't found. We'd almost reached the back of the tribute train already. A caboose, I think. It was just the two of us, and just the way I liked it.<p>

Once we'd reached the last compartment, Gale put his hands on his knees to get back his breath. I was still panting. "Capitol women," he managed, and then with a scowl, "all the same."

I closed the door of the compartment after us, and once I did I slumped against the wall and to the floor. Gale prompty sat beside me. For a while we didn't say anything, just listened to each other's breathing as they slowed to a normal pace It wasn't awkward though, as you'd think. I'd been in the forests with him enough times, and we could go up to an hour without saying anything sometimes. But even then, through lack of talking, we still could work together to take down one animal. We could almost communicate telepathically really. You had to be quiet out there; noise scared away game. And no one was better at being quiet than Gale was. Don't get me wrong, he _was_ loquacious when you were someone he wanted to talk to.

Finally Gale got back up again, back on his feet. He appeared antsy. I stared at him from the floor, unmoving, confused at this sudden motion. Without a word, (deciding to answer my question through more movement) he went to the other door, the one that led out of the compartment. Once he opened it wide, the roar of the rushing wind filled the compartment. He stepped out into the night, and by leaving the door open behind him I knew he wanted me to follow him.

The first thing that hit me was…well, the wind. It was so strong at such a velocity, it even yanked some of my hair loose from the braid I'd made. One thing Effie had mentioned that I had remembered was her saying that the speed this thing rides along at- a solid 250 mph. It was unfathomable, I never even rode in cars. They were a rare sight back in District 12. You walked places on foot.

The wind was like getting up in the morning, spraying cold water on your face in an effort to wake yourself up. And it was just as cold as water. We shivered in the frigidity, and then stood just a little bit closer together. We watched in wonder as the landscape whizzed by in such a way that I could hardly take it in before we passed it by. We'd never even left the vicinity of our district before. Travel from our district to others was strictly for coal transportation. Most have never even been on of those trains.

As we watched longer, our eyes adjusted to the fast transitions. We could actually differentiate the trees, the widespread fields of corn. It's not like we could tell one district from the next though. The wind on our face actually grew to feel refreshing. Gale spread his arms wide, as if he was taking it all in.

"What if we…what if we just jumped off?"

Oh, it was this talk again. I wanted to slap him upside the head and say that was stupid, that we'd have to be scraped off the tracks by the time we'd be found. That it would be absurd an assumption that we'd walk it off afterwards, walk it off and into an area we knew nothing of. And, just as importantly, that it was still early enough in the game for the Capitol to go and bring back new tributes. Maybe Peeta and Prim, the ones who'd really been chosen.

But then again, I didn't want to say that. I wanted to, for just these moments, think of flying, breaking free, and when we hit the ground, running away in the opposite direction. Exhilaration Like a mockingjay, flying against the wind which insisted on bringing her elsewhere.

If only we'd been born with wings!

Gale was smiling, and I couldn't even compare it to the sun coming out because that occurs too often. Yes, we were being taken away from home, home we'd known our entire lives. And yes we'd be arriving at the Capitol the next day. But right now, all was forgotten. We were in the wind. We were at neither place the wind brought us or brought us from.

We stayed out there a while, until eventually it just got too cold to keep our teeth from gnashing together and we even grew weary of standing, hanging on to the railings. We walked steadily back into the compartment of the train, and then we shut the door behind us. We resumed our old positions against the wall, except this time we were huddled closer for warmth.

There's nothing real romantic about this physical contact. Two winters ago District 12 hit temperatures at a record low. We also saw the worst snowstorm in three decades. Even worse (yes, it was possible), the blizzard had been an insta-blizzard, hitting our district without any warning. It was right in the middle of the day. Gale and I had been out hunting in the woods together and we'd been trapped out there all day and into the next morning. The two of us had hidden away in a snowy oak tree, clutching each other for body heat, trembling together and also in fair quantity worrying about whether our families on the other side of the fence were eating or not.

Not allowing the other to fall asleep for fear that person wouldn't wake up.

"I think I ate too much," I say, rubbing at my full belly. How long has it been since dinner? Were Effie and Haymitch looking for us, or did they decide to leave us to our own devices?

"I think I ate too fast," said Gale, and then he sighed and leaned his head on my shoulder. I sigh also and I'm able to close my eyes. Here it's coming.

"Gale," I say softly. He must know what was coming.

"Yeah, Catnip?"

"Why did you volunteer for Peeta? Better yet, go against the pact we made last year? One of us had to stay home."

Gale is real quiet when he responds. "We're a team, Katniss. When you were reaped, well… I suddenly couldn't imagine not being with you. Not hunting together. I want to be with you, in the woods, at your house, in these Games. Work together."

I don't know how to respond. Was that really all it was? He just wanted to fight alongside me, like a partnership? I can't say it was completely unheard of...but one of us would not get to come home!

But then again, something told me that this wasn't the real reason he'd volunteered. I wanted to ask further, but then again a part of me doesn't want to know the real answer. What if it was truly pure impulse, as I'd suspected, and by now he'd come to regret stepping forward for Peeta? What if…and this was much worse than anything…what if all that talk in the forest wasn't just talk, he really wanted to rebel against the Capitol somehow…?

No, that couldn't be it. I let myself relax. Just for now, I wouldn't think of that. I wouldn't think that only one of us could come home after these Games were over. But with the two of us in it, there was more of a chance of our district having a winner. A winner who would bring in foodstuffs for their family, honor to their district.

Right now I just thought of what I had. And to be honest, right now it was only him and the pin.

"I…I hope you don't die, Gale," I muttered, into his ear.

At this, he burst out laughing, and we'd been speaking to each other so quietly that the sudden noise caused me to jump. Gale's head swung off my shoulder.

"That's gotta be the sweetest thing I've ever heard you say, Catnip!" said Gale, still laughing. Thinking I'd gone soft. Hmph.

My face grows red, and I must look away. "Hey!" But then I can't think of anything else to say, and I cross my arms and I slouch against the wall further.

"I'm just kidding," said Gale, affectionately ruffling up my hair, which had already gone loose from the wind. "And you know what, I hope you don't die too."

"Well that's got to be the sweetest thing _I've_ heard come from your mouth," I grunt back. I just untie my braid at this point, letting the dark waves tumble over my shoulders.

Gale lays his head on my shoulder again. He smells like the Capitol soap. Only slightly does that wood smoke scent linger on him. I will surely grow to miss it. I close my eyes again. I never even sleep in such proximity with my mother, some sort of underlying trust issue. I don't know.

But Gale, I feel I can trust him completely. Now, and in the arena. We could sleep alongside each other in there, and I know that I'd wake up in the morning.

I feel for his hand, and we shake on it. The handshake we never had back at the reaping. We accepted each other as adversaries on our own. We didn't have to play by the Capitol's rules though…

At some point I must have drifted off to sleep, Gale's head still on my shoulder.

We're still sitting like this when Haymitch finds us in the morning.

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><p><strong>[AN] **Calm yourself, Galeniss fans! This wasn't intended to be entirely romantic.

Thank you for reading. :) Remember to review!

Wonder how Gale and Haymitch will get along? (Or not get along!) xD

_"You decide_  
><em>(Who will you run to)<em>  
><em>Wrong or right<em>  
><em>(There is no reason)<em>  
><em>For you to hide<em>  
><em>Only love can change your life<em>  
><em>You decide."<em>

-Alice


	5. Don't Call Me Kid!

**~ NIGHTINGALE ~**

**By SincerelyAlice**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 5: DON'T CALL ME KID [IT'S DOWN TO THIS]<strong>

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><p><strong>[AN] **Hey everybody! ^-^ It's been a while since I last updated, huh? Once again, I thank you for your patience!

I saw the Hunger Games movie on its premiere, and I have to say I wasn't disappointed! There were gaps, yes, but I found that if you read the books they are filled nicely with what the reader already knows. :) So I very much recommend it!

**Um. I have 2 responses to 2 very specific reviews!**

**To **Asdasdasdasdasd**: ****Yes, you don't think it's likely that Gale would have volunteered for the Hunger Games in the first place. After all, that's not how Suzanne Collins wrote it. However, this fanfiction differs because he did. And there's a completely viable explanation that I don't plan on revealing, but I already know about. :)**

**Neither family will starve. Gale knows Peeta's families will take care of both in the following weeks.**

**To **Dsfsdfsdfsdfsdf**: You think that Katniss should be freaking out a little more than she is right now. Perhaps I didn't make it clear enough, but she hasn't completely come to terms with the situation she's in, and it can be attributed to the fact that she's still with Gale. Because she is, this sense of familiarity doesn't let her mind transition yet. This will not last, will be addressed more.**

I've read all your other reviews too =D I appreciate them all!

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><p><strong>[AN]** This chapter is mainly about the interaction between Haymitch and Gale.

I hope you like it

-Alice

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><p>It was the next morning, and I could hear Haymitch was saying something, something to us. I feel warm, and somewhat content. I'm on something that's soft, endearing. I warily lift my head from Gale's shoulder, which was little weird because our positions had been reversed when I fell asleep. I look at Gale and I can see with the rise and fall of his chest that he's still sleeping. He looks so at peace, nothing like how he looks when he's awake.<p>

Slowly, my surroundings seep into my vision. It's the rest of the train compartment. This man standing before us. And then I remember where I am, it's not at my house, even though this small piece of home came along with me. I rest my hand on the surreal purple carpet, and it registers somewhere in my mind that this is velvet. Last night I don't think I'd even noticed. This is real. It was starting to feel like how it did in the Justice Building. My fist clenches tightly around the velvet.

"Are you two coming to breakfast?" asked Haymitch. His words weren't slurred; on the contrary, he spoke very loudly and clearly. He also seemed to have been cleaned up nicely from what must have transpired last night. That was a start, I suppose. "It's 10 o'clock already."

I just stare back at him, squinting slightly at the light that came in from the windows.

"Alright, the lot of you, don't eat." And at this, Haymitch leaves the compartment and Gale and I alone once more.

Haymitch had seemed irritated. Already given up on us, huh? A surge of irritation came over me, and because of this I remained defiant. I don't let myself move. If I did Gale would fall to the floor, and I don't want to wake him up just yet. How could I? Instead, I just take this time to myself to gather up my thoughts. I lay my head back on Gale's shoulder again.

Haymitch, as much as we may already detest him, was Gale and I's lifeline. That was what was wrong with the situation. Haymitch could afford to abhor the two of us, but we could not afford to do the same to him. He was our sole mentor (the only other victor from our district's dead, and we've no other), the person who would have to send us into the Hunger Games with the advice that could save our lives. After all, he won it once. Who would, as we fight for our lives, fight to win us some sponsors... Or at least, that's what he was supposed to do.

Just like I was supposed to go into these Games and ram a knife into everything I believed in. My morals, that is…and the boy sleeping next to me. His absolute trust in me, and mine in him…could that kind of thing really carry over into the Arena? Or was that just something more to stab until there was nothing left of it? I don't think I could ever…

"Gnnr?" Gale mumbles, before even opening his eyes. I lift my head from his shoulder again. He then rubs at his eyes sleepily, as they open and stare wide at me. "Where are we?"

"The tribute train," I say to him, trying to smile, trying to laugh at the same confusion I'd had. But I can't, I really can't. How nice it would have been to wake up and see that it was all just a bad dream, that we were back in District 12, or that we were at least in that snow-covered tree again.

Gale makes another noise, and then he gets to his feet. I stand up after him.

"That's right. Effie. Where's the food at," he muttered, his silver eyes in slits. He was still adjusting to the sunlight.

I dismiss all the thoughts I'd had previous, my dislike for Haymitch and my resilience. I decide not to mention that Haymitch had gone looking for us earlier.

"Come, let's go," I said, and I leave the compartment, Gale following after me. He still must be a dab drowsy, and so for once he doesn't insist on walking side by side with me, as he would always do in when walking in the woods. One thing he'd always seemed to reinstate, we were equals, equals in everything.

I let out a small sigh. The way Haymitch had been acting, I didn't really want to join him for breakfast now. But still I led Gale to the dining compartment. Effie Trinket is sitting at the table, the same one we'd been at last night. She's all dressed up still. I look down to see I'm, of course, wearing the same green outfit as yesterday with the mockingjay pin. Only difference now is that the outfit was slightly crumpled. I choose not to be self-conscious at all.

There's food spread for us, and it seems that Effie'd already eaten. She's sitting at the table simply as a formality. I don't see Haymitch there. My stomach grumbled looking at all the food, and just then I realized how hungry I was. Gale and I sit down, but this time we're next to each other. I look to Effie to gauge a reaction, but I didn't seem to get one at all. If anything she seemed a little dismayed.

We start to eat. Neither Gale nor I really have anything to say to Effie, so we just continue to eat our late breakfast. It seems the food had only been set out for the two who had slept in.

Effie crinkles her nose as I take a third helping of eggs, and I can't help but somewhat resent the Capitol woman. I knew from yesterday that Gale definitely did, but I didn't so often generalize people from where they're from. I mean, it's not her fault she was raised in the Capitol, right? But still, I wasn't liking her attitude towards me. Her face is so plastered in makeup it looks as if I took a fork to it, it would crack and crumble, starting with that upturned nose. Gale's had more food than I've had already, yet she only looks upon me in contempt. I lay the fork down; I don't want to be tempted.

I look to Gale, but as I expect he's still paying Effie no attention. And it seems Effie has abandoned all efforts to try and flirt with him. i=Instead she's taken to sneering at me. Oh, was it that she considered me the competition? Do excuse me for being the one he ran off with, you know, the person he grew up with, his best friend? I feel something jabbing into the palm of my hand and I see that I've picked up my fork again. I know that was being unnecessarily defensive of Gale, that after all he is no child, but my matronly side was coming out (and not one of someone who is jealous!).

Effie's wanted to be promoted to a finer district than 12 for a while. Unfortunately, despite her no doubt best efforts, 12's tributes always seem to come up short.

Haymitch enters the dining cart, and he's taking a swig from a small, silver flask. I don't know why I'm so surprised; did I really think he'd lay the liquor aside just because Gale and I would need his help? I know that I also have to lose the misdirected anger. After all, just as Gale and I didn't ask for them, I doubt they asked for two tributes like us. Haymitch sits on the other side of the dining table. Living it up in Victor's Village, a bottle in hand, I'm sure that's where he'd rather be too.

I don't think anyone likes where they're at right now.

I also didn't think things could possibly get more awkward, but upon Haymitch entering it just did. Haymitch drinks from his flask, but like Effie he wasn't eating either. Instead, also like Effie, he was just there. Gale continued to eat; did he not feel this heavy silence weighing down on his shoulders? I'm a little stubborn, and I know that. But I have to put that aside, swallow my pride and speak up, for me, and for Gale. I suppress all these emotions that I've been feeling, and I try to swing my mood in the direction that would be more pleasant for everyone.

"So. Haymitch," I began, trying to sound casual. "Any advice? On how to win this thing?"

After all, he had done it himself, hadn't he?

Haymitch just laughs upon hearing my question. "Advice? Yeah. _Stay alive_."

There was a poignant pause in which neither I nor Gale were even eating. Effie seems to have given up on Haymitch already.

"Well, I figured that," muttered Gale, who's gone back to eating.

District 12 hadn't had a victor for nearly three decades…but was it really all the tributes' faults? With what I've seen so far, it seemed as if the blame could be directed elsewhere.

"Anything else?" I ask, trying to remain patient, when it seemed that Gale, like Effie, had already given up on talking to the man. But Haymitch just seemed to shrug off my question as he took another sip from his flask, as if there was nothing else to this.

"Hey uh, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be helping us here," I say to Haymitch sternly, and I found that my voice was rising. Hey, no one else was saying anything! "You know, considering you must have done this thing before-"

"It's no use," said Gale, laying down his fork and then giving me a wary look as to stop talking now. I closed my mouth abruptly. He then turned to Haymitch, who'd finally put the flask down in interest. "He doesn't have to help us. We can well do it on our own. We've lived this long doing just that."

Haymitch just raised an eyebrow at this. "Oh, really?"

"_Yes_," said Gale defiantly, looking Haymitch dead in the eye. That silvery gaze of his can make anyone flinch. "Yes we can."

Haymitch inelegantly wiped at his mouth with his sleeve and then stood up from his chair. He was massive in comparison to Gale. "What makes you think it's going to be that easy? The arena ain't the woods, kid."

Gale just bit the side of his lip, his eyes narrowing even more.

"Wait, how do you know about the woods?" I asked.

Haymitch just laughed, but then his serious tone dropped to an even lower level. "I'm at the Hob enough. I, just like everyone else there, know you two are the ones that haul in the game every day." And then he lowered his voice even more, so that Effie may not hear, as he let our secret leave his lips. "The ones who poach in the woods…am I correct?"

I had seen Haymitch at the Hob when I'd been there. Stumbling round the stalls, throwing his money around to whatever liquor seller could catch. I'd had no idea that he could have noticed either of us though. I turned to see how Gale was reacting, but what Haymitch said didn't seem to faze him in the least.

"Yes, you are correct," answered Gale. "And so you must know that we're completely capable of supporting ourselves…"

"Yes, you think so?" asked Haymitch, who was now looking even more amused.

"Yes. Yes, we are. We-"

"No," I cut in, and I was greeted with stone cold silence. Gale, who wore something of betrayal. Haymitch, who now just looked like another playing piece had joined the board. He crossed his arms, waiting for me to continue to speak. I knew I couldn't just stop there.

Gale may not realize this yet, but our chances of survival in there were posted at zero to one. There will be tributes in there whom had been trained all their lives. There's never been a bow and arrow in an arena before, not in all the times we've sat around the TV watching. What did we know about killing _people_?

"We don't know anything about these Games," I continued, but not being able to look at Gale. "How to win them. Yes, we can hunt, but what we really need is the advice of someone who's done everything else."

"Katniss," began Gale, in a warning tone.

"No, she's right, kid," said Haymitch, who now bore his grin again. "Hey, nothing I can't teach you. But here's your first tip…" And then Haymitch lowered his voice again. He nstood over Gale, so close to him that I'd no doubt Gale could smell the whiskey on his breath. "That kind of confidence won't get you anywhere if you've nothing to back it up."

"Don't call me kid," said Gale, even in apparent defeat.

Haymitch just sighed, now collapsing back into his own chair. "Geez. What am I to do with you two? I mean, you," and Haymitch looked pointedly at Gale, "have at least got some looks. But we've gotta fix that stubbornness of yours." Then Haymitch looked to me. "Now you. What can you do?"

"Me? I…"

"Don't talk to her like that!" said Gale, who most have taken Haymitch's harmless inquire as something of an insult towards me. "You know very well that she's the one who hunts alongside me. And she's almost better."

"Almost?" I muse, but virtually I'm ignored.

"What did I just say about being stubborn?" growled Haymitch, putting his hands on the table roughly, now appearing menacing. The dishes rattled, and Effie let out a small shriek. Haymitch's icy eyes sent shivers down my spine, but Gale merely returned the intense stare.

"Now, now," cried Effie, finally saying something. "All this arguing so early in the morning is hard on the ears. That is fine china, Haymitch!"

"Gale, he didn't mean anything by it," I tell Gale calmly, but then I turn to Haymitch. "But he is right. I do hunt with him. We both use the bow and arrow. My aim's gotten pretty good."

Haymitch eases back into his chair, and the way he looks at Gale and me, I know he must be studying the two of us, gauging our abilities and ultimately the fighting chance we may have. Gale looks away, seeing he is the only one left agitated, and he is scowling sourly.

"So you've nearly the same skills," said Haymitch. "Alright. Act nearly the same. You also look similar…" Then something seems to enter his mind as an idea, and he asks, "You two aren't related, are you?"

"No," I say, since Gale's now taken to not talking. "At least not closely."

Everyone from the Seam looks sort of similar, dark hair, olive skin, and gray eyes. So Gale and I could almost be mistaken as brother and sister. Only remarkable difference was in his eyes, they were silver but sometimes, sporadically, a little bit of cobalt blue was brought out.

**([A/N] Gale's actor for the movie has blue eyes.)**

"Now, how are you going to win over the sponsors?" asked Haymitch, almost to himself. "You see, every tribute's gotta create their own image. Something the viewers will like, something that will make you wanted to win."

"Can't we just learn how to survive first?" Gale asked, rejoining the conversation, but rather impatiently.

Haymitch just narrowed his eyes. "Kid, some things are just as important."

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><p><strong>[AN] Hey thanks for reading! Now just click that little "Review This Chapter" button down there ;D**

**Wonder what image they're going to go for? Something says it won't be "star-crossed lovers"...**

_"It's down to this_  
><em>I've got to make this life make sense<em>  
><em>Can anyone tell what I've done?<em>  
><em>I miss the life<em>  
><em>I miss the colours of the world<em>  
><em>Can anyone tell where I am?"<em>


	6. Terms

**~ NIGHTINGALE ~**

**By SincerelyAlice**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 6: TERMS<strong>

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><p><strong>AAAAAAAAAAH! SORRY GUYS D: THIS IS WHAT I MEANT TO UPLOAD LAST NIGHT D: !<strong>

I don't know what happened...but for some reason Chapter 5 became Chapter 6 also. Now here's the real thing: I promise!

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><p><strong>[AN] **This chapter took an especially long time, and it's mainly a transition chapter. I'm not really confident about it, but I'm done looking at it, to be honest.

Now here's 2 responses to 2 specific reviews!

**Ellenka**: I especially like your reviews, your favorite quotes from the chapter. :) Thank you for reading, I appreciate it greatly. :D

**690**: I didn't know if anyone actually looked up the songs that I always post. It's good to know that at least one person does ^-^

Maybe if you review I will answer it in the next chapter :) I want suggestions! Like I said, this early on, it's better to critique! ! :D

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><p>I'm posting a poll on my profile. It's<strong> Who would you want to win the Games?<strong>

a) Katniss

b) Gale

c) Both

d) Neither

The way I'm headed, I know which one it's going to be. I'm not saying that the winner of the poll is going to be how it turns out, I just want to hear what you guys think. So PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE vote, and in the Reviews you can also give an opinion on why you'd choose what you did. (There's definately Pros and Cons for each.)

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><p><strong>Set the Fire to the Third Bar- Snow Patrol<strong>

_"After I have travelled so far,_  
><em>We'd set the fire to the third bar.<em>  
><em>We'd share each other like an island,<em>  
><em>Until exhausted, close our eyelids.<em>  
><em>And dreaming, pick up from,<em>  
><em>The last place we left off.<em>  
><em>Your soft skin is weeping,<em>  
><em>A joy you can't keep in.<em>

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><p>That's it! Now here's the chapter! :) -Alice<p>

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><p>"We just want to know what we have to do, if we want to have a chance of making it out alive," I say very carefully, looking everyone else at the dining table in turn, in the eye as I speak. I had to keep my priorities straight, if anything.<p>

"You'll have to do everything I tell you," Haymitch replied, itching at his head. But then he looked back at me, in all seriousness. "Everything."

I turn to Gale, sitting beside me, before I agree to anything. He sighs heavily, putting down his glass of water. He lets his eyes shut.

"_Fine_," he says, and then looks back at me warily. I was just given the okay.

Hey, this was a lot more than we had last night. Then, all we'd had was each other. And as much as Gale wanted it to remain that way, I knew that, practically, we also needed help from elsewhere. After the high of last night, in the morning it seemed that everything was put under a harsh light.

"But that means you've got to limit the drinking!" I say, for Haymitch has already got the silver flask back in his one hand. I knew the importance of terms. "If we're going to listen to you we want to be at least listening to something _coherent_!"

Haymitch's eyes narrow, but he slowly sets the flask back down onto the table in, what seems to be, agreement. Just as he does so, darkness falls over the dining compartment. My hands go to my sides and instinctively they grip the sides of the mahogany chair. This feeling of paranoia I've gotten must be because this is reminding me of the deep coal mines.

It's dark, but when I look over I can just make out Gale and his features, and his expression is hard-set. But he's also looking over at me.

Soon enough it's over, and it's light again. I relax visibly, and my hands, now clammy, slip from the sides of my seat and then find their way back into my lap. It's even brighter in here than it was before. Gale stands up, and he looks out the windows behind us. I turn around in my chair. The city is practically gleaming. It's just like what we've seen on the televisions. It's almsot better. I can see a rainbow of colors, the tops of people's heads. Cars whiz by on the pavement streets. Buildings scrape the sky.

"It's the Capitol," Gale says, and his tone of voice is a delicate balance between a new awe and embedded revulsion. But I guess the revulsion tipped the scale, because he then turned away from the window.

This tunnel we just passed through had been drilled through the mountain, and it was really the only way into the Capitol city. The mountains surrounding the Capitol served as a natural barrier that protected it. This geographical advantage was one of the main reasons the districts failed in their rebellion against the Capitol. The rebels would have to scale the mountains if they wanted to get to the Capitol, where they could be easily picked off as targets by the air forces.

"We should be at the station real soon," said Effie, collecting her bearings. She gave Gale and I a small smile, and Gale a curt nod. Gale nodded back, and I was kind of curious if something had happened between them, but I don't know what or when they could have been...

Haymitch put on his hat, his fingers straightening the brim. "You'll be meeting with your stylists. Now this is real important-don't resist." Haymitch looked specifically to Gale when he said this.

The first appearances of the tributes at the Capitol were always a big to-do. I've been watching the Hunger Games on the television back home as long as I could remember. On the first day the viewers get to see the tributes being chosen, two from each of the twelve districts. The next day you see each of them making their debut in the Capitol city. In the time span between the reaping and the opening ceremonies, they're made to look so different. They're made over by professional stylists in this first effort to win over sponsors.

Prim used to squeal over the glitzy fashion and the eyeliner, rate them as her favorites and coo over the equally done-up horses that led the tributes around in their carriages. When she got old enough to understand, she stopped this. Me, if I ever saw these ceremonies as such I don't remember it. It was like putting cows up on parade before they were sent to the slaughterhouse.

Last year, District 12's tributes (both which hadn't made past the first few days) had been sent out stark naked, covered in black coal dust. Being the mining district, we had a certain theme we had to stick to. We really weren't given much to work with...I did hope that they would not reuse last year's idea.

"Whatever they want to do to make you over, let them do it," said Haymitch. That meant if, like last year, the stylists wanted to send us out naked, we'd best be starting to strip. "You'll find yourself much better off."

There was a short silence, and I felt sweat run down my forehead. I know I will, what if Gale didn't heed this vital advice? It would just be like him to, as Haymitch put it, resist.

"Gale?" I said, breathing hard. I stand up from my chair, and I see that Effie and Haymitch are watching me. "Come with me one minute?"

"Okay," agreed Gale, but I was out the door before I even got my answer. We were nearly at the train station, and so I needed to get another word in before I couldn't anymore...

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><p><strong>THIRD PERSON POV<strong>

Once he was sure that Katniss and Gale had gone, Haymitch let out a low laugh. Those two were like Siamese twins, shared everything…but hopefully not a brain. Especially if one of them were to be killed in the arena…what District 12 didn't need was some half-responsive twit running the show, like a chicken with its head cut off once the other one was killed off. If that was the case District 12 had only half the chance it usually had.

Haymitch looked to the silver flask, but then decided against taking a swig. Then he wondered why. Those two were a handful, two heavy handfuls. And both so damn stubborn. Did he really dare hope them to have a chance? If only they could redirect their relentless energy elsewhere…Haymitch looked away from his reflection in the flask and saw that Effie Trinket was still at the dining table, but her gaze was elsewhere. She'd been spacey all morning, her makeup a bit lacking and wig a little lopsided. Of course, these were all observations Haymitch had made after knowing her for so long.

"You've been awfully quiet, Effie," Haymitch couldn't help but comment under his breath. Effie, realizing she'd been addressed, looked up from her lap suddenly. Throughout the discussion she hadn't taken part of, she'd been stroking the fabric of her dress.

"I…didn't have much to say," proclaimed Effie lamely, straightening herself out. But Haymitch wasn't fooled.

"Never stopped you before."

"Never has anything…stopped…" And, if you paid close enough attention, you could see that Effie's eyes briefly went towards the door of the compartment in which Katniss and Gale had left for the moment.

"Late night?" asked Haymitch with a smirk and at this he decided on a small sip of liquor as he left. Effie just sat there, now alone, stunned. _He knew? _she wondered to herself.

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><p><strong>KATNISS'S POV<strong>

"Gale," I said, sighing. He stood across from me, but his jaw was set and he wore the same expression that he had around on the others. He had to know that he couldn't keep that kind of thing up in front of me. I wouldn't stand for it. I glowered at him.

Finally, he melted under the white-hot intensity of my glare. "_What_?" he asked, throwing his hands out in front of him in exasperation. But I think he knew exactly what I was getting at.

"You heard Haymitch," I told him, and very testily. And if Gale didn't listen to Haymitch, maybe he'd at least listen if his advice came from me. "I don't like it much either, but we've got to listen to him. We've got to let them do whatever they want to us."

Gale didn't agree to it, but he also didn't argue with me. Not knowing what else to say, we stood there in silence a while longer. I kept my arms crossed, hoping that he was at least mulling it over at this point.

The train came to a smooth stop, and I heard Effie's voice call for us from the other compartment. With the sudden cease in motion, I realized that we were here. _In the Capitol_. No longer in the wind. We'd arrived at our destination. I felt sick to my stomach, which was ironic considering it was because we were no longer moving...

Perhaps on the way over I'd felt like I'd still had a choice in the matter. Although I really hadn't, perhaps I'd thought maybe the train would never arrive, or there'd been a mistake. Even if it was jumping off the back off the train, it was an _option_. But now it felt like I had none, not even an absurd one like jumping through the wind. Maybe I didn't want to be told what to do either. Maybe I could be like Gale and just refuse it. Effie was still calling us. What if we just never came? My eyes flicker around the compartment. We could hide.

But no, I promised Prim that I'd do whatever I could to get back home. And I think being dipped into a can of rainbow paint and being painted a fake smile to match...well, it fell under the "whatever I could" category. I had to go into this the easy way, and I had to so that Gale may as well.

What would I lose who I was in the process? Could I really cling to myself anymore?

Even though Effie had called our names, Gale doesn't move. Instead he is watching me closely, just as Effie and Haymitch had. As I fight my inner battle... _Everybody's waiting for you to breakdown._ **([A/N] Bonus points for anyone who gets the reference.)**

"Catnip, it'll be alright," said Gale, although I hadn't given hint to what I was thinking. He seems to be answering for me more than himself. He's looking out the window. You can hear the people outside; they've recognized the arrival of the tribute train. Gale stares out at them as they continue to shout for us but his expression doesn't change. To me, his thoughts were clear as a crystal. _Stupid rich people_.

"I know…" I say, and I'm embarrassed now. I fix my face. I can't be weak. It was uncharted waters, sure, but Gale and I knew how to swim. All he had to do was try, and I knew I could too.

"Will you…will you at least cooperate?" I ask Gale, who's still looking sullen. Gale looks at me as I ask this, but doesn't respond although the question must have registered somewhere in his muddled mind. Does he not realize that I'm worried he won't?

"Come now!" cried Effie Trinket, but she pokes in her head to make sure she was actually being heard. "We're on a schedule, you know!"

Gale and I begin our slow and steady trudge out of the tribute train. Crowds of Capitol people await us, all trying to get a good look at this year's tributes from 12. We met up with the people who introduced themselves as our stylists.

Finally, I hear Gale mutter under his breath to me, "Alright, Catnip."

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><p><strong>[A.N]<strong> Time for Gale to be handed over to the stylists. Well at least it's now willingly..! But things don't always go as we want, do they?

How do you think the opening ceremonies are going to go? Yes, it was Cinna's ideas to light Peeta and Katniss on fire, and so this won't change. But at the same time, it will... :)

"_I'm miles from where you are,_

_I lay down on the cold ground._  
><em>And I, I pray that something picks me up,<em>  
><em>and sets me down in your warm arms."<em>

Reminds me of Peeta...we'll be flashing back to him every once in a while, to see what's going on in District 12.

**Remember to vote in the poll!**

(and as always, REVIEW!)


	7. Frequencies

**~ NIGHTINGALE ~**

**By SincerelyAlice**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 7: FREQUENCIES<strong>

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><p><strong>[AN] **Hello, new and returning to _Nightingale! _:D

I've hit 100 reviews! Thank you all so much for your love and support 3 This one wasn't meant to have taken so long. I was in Ohio, and then school play. :3 I hope this one was worth the wait...

The song I chose for this song is sort of romantic, but this chapter is not meant to be that.

Thank you again! ^-^

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><p><strong>John Mayer- Slow Dancing in a Burning Room <strong>

_"We're going down,_  
><em>And you can see it too.<em>  
><em>We're going down,<em>  
><em>And you know that we're doomed.<em>  
><em>My dear,<em>  
><em>We're slow dancing in a burning room."<em>

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><p>I feel much better now that I know what Gale has agreed to. I didn't even have the time to worry about myself until I sat myself down in the Remake Center, and I realized just what was going down. My three-man prep team, by the names of Octavia, Flavius, and Venia, were looming around me, almost wary. All of them, dressed extravagantly.<p>

I'm told to remove my clothes at once. I spare the golden mockingbird pin one last glance before I lay the green shirt on the floor. I lay the shirt face-up so that I can still see the pin from where I'm sitting upon this table. I take a deep breath, lower my head and slowly close my eyes, and the Capitol people take this as my being ready. Even if I'm not, I still like to act as if I am still in control of the situation…that's what I tell myself I am. But really, what control did I have? Did they really require my consent?

I hear Haymitch's words again...not to resist. And so I submit.

They scrub away all the grime with a gritty soap, and so much I'm rubbed raw. My skin is red. I keep my jaw barred throughout the whole procedure, and I'm met with even more difficulty throughout the shaving, waxing, and plucking.

About an hour in, the one named Venia has my long, dark hair in her hands. I had taken it down from its braid before we had started, and it ran in waves down my back. She ran her fingers through it appreciatively.

"So much of it! Think of all we could do…"

Octavia and Flavius ceased what they were doing, put down their wax paper, to join in on Venia's thought. This is when I speak up. Perhaps it's the idea of seeing my hair in Venia's hair color, aquamarine, that lets me.

"I'd like to keep in my braid," I say, simply. There's a poignant silence, and then, surprisingly, Venia drops my hair then. They just let the whole subject drop with that. They don't bring up my hair again. It's petty, I know, but I feel as if I want to keep just that…That's all I resist. Even when all else was gone. Why it was my hair in particular, I don't know. It just had to be something.

I've been in here for at least a few hours, and I know there's still much left to do before I'm considered by my stylists to be "presentable." That's when I'll be meeting Cinna, my stylist. I don't recognize the name from past Hunger Games. Over the years I've become familiar with at least a few of them.

"Doing alright?" asked Flavius, and I can recognize his voice even though I'd shut my eyes. He was the one man of the three. "That one looked like it hurt!_"_

I'd instinctively squeezed my eyes shut, for just a second, sunk my teeth into my lower lip, scrunched my eyebrows, clenched my fists against the sides of the table. I'd even squeezed out a few blurry tears. Flavius appeared as a purple smudge in my vision. As my vision returns, the purple contains itself in just his Capitol garb, but he's also wearing purple lipstick. His lips still move but I can no longer discern what he is saying to me.

I know that I cannot so visibly show weakness like this once I'm in the arena. And so I then make a very clear point of it not to cringe, not to so crudely wince anymore. Even though I feel so incredibly vulnerable inside, I make sure to keep my shoulders set back and my chin up as I sit upon the table and let them carry away with their work. I think of Gale somewhere else in this Remake Center, and I know that I have to be strong. Because no doubt he was doing the same. It was probably even more difficult for him right now…he must hate this.

I search below me for that small glint of gold again. I find that my green clothes had been kicked away somewhere, along with the pin. Somehow, this strikes me as sad. I put my hand on my chest to where the mockingbird would be had it been pinned to my skin. I was like the mockingbird. Plucked…and almost ready for the roast. Already stuffed, with the Capitol food…and this Cinna would be the one dressing me. What would he or she be like?

I don't talk much with my prep team. I stuck to answering only the very standard questions. For anything else, I kept my jaw locked. When it finally got through to them that I wasn't exactly one for idle chat, the three of them contented with talking among themselves. About the upcoming ceremonies they were all excited for. All in their ridiculous accents…and at a volume and a pitch too high to easily tune out of. Their annoying tendency to end sentences as if they were questions...

Effie had been _quiet _compared to these three. It's funny, but listening to these people made me realize how much closer to normalcy Effie Trinket, of all people, was! She hadn't talked much…although right before we'd left she had wanted to speak with Gale just for a minute. But other than that…

I look up to see that my prep team is standing before me, speaking appreciatively and through gleaming, too white smiles. Oh, they must be finished with me. I realized that after all this time, I'd actually been able to tune them out, almost as if I'd they'd gone up to such a high frequency that my ears couldn't pick up the sound anymore.

"Excellent!" Flavius is saying, pushing back the orange corkscrews falling in front of his face with the back of his hand. He let out a low exhale. "You almost look like a human being now!"

All three laugh, and for their own sakes I'm glad that I did not partake in any earlier conversation. Irritation at their lack of character, or better yet, empathy for my sake… do they not realize what this all is? It really cannot be their fault…I somehow find it in me to forgive them and their blatant display of ignorance. They know no better, and they are truly trying their best for me. I can't bring myself to hate them. And this, I know, is what separates me from Gale!

"Thank you," I say, sweetly as I can and devoid of all underlying bitterness towards them. "We don't have much cause to look nice in District 12."

There was the acid tongue again! I hadn't meant to say anything of the sort. I bit down on my tongue before I could say anything else, but it seems my prep team was able to swallow it without too much difficulty.

"Of course, you don't, you poor darling!" says Octavia, the one with her skin dyed a pale green, who clasps her hands to her poor heart in mock pain for me.

"But don't worry," said Venia, pulling a stand of her aqua hair behind her ear. She's got four golden earrings down the side of her ear, and I think of how much they'd sell for back home and how long my family and I could live off the food. I have to think of something else…

"By the time Cinna is through with you, you're going to be absolutely gorgeous!" continued Venia, her voice fading off in utter awe. They all were smiling, admiring their handiwork of four hours, and perhaps imagining me once I'd gone through with this Cinna.

"We promise!" Flavius enthused, his own smile a broad grin. His eyes still traveled all over my naked body. "You know, now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and filth, you're not horrible at all!"

_Gee, thanks._

I pull my thin robe back on over my body. It's not that I'm self-conscious about being before them naked. I'm not self-conscious in the least, not around them. To me, they seem like they're hardly people. It's more just that I felt like pulling my robe back on, was done with the instinctive vulnerability that came along with being bare.

"Let's call Cinna!" said Flavius, leading the other two out the door excitedly. Once they're all gone, I let out a deep sigh. This Cinna person…what was he or she going to be like? Like my prep team? _Worse_? I think of past District 12 tributes, their debuts at the opening ceremonies.

I tie my hair back into a braid again, to calm my nerves during this in-between time. I swing my legs from the table as I do so, keeping my breathing in time with the kicks.

And then I hear a noise. My fingers freeze within their work, entangled in my hair. I glance around the room, half-expecting Cinna to make his appearance. However, I see no one before me. The door is wide open. I finish up the braid, but a bit more hurriedly this time. I hop off the table, looking around and still feeling particularly paranoid when I probably shouldn't have reason to yet.

A big-haired blonde Capitol woman strides past the room, but when she sees me standing in the center of the room, she backtracks to the doorway and peers into it. She is wearing a short white dress, but it was flowing in the back. She stares right at me but doesn't say a word. Then her narrowed eyes dart about the rest of the room, almost as if she's looking for something and I may have it or know where it is.

"Are you Cinna?" I ask, rather dumbly, because she's given me nothing to let me know or not.

"No, no, I'm Portia," the Capitol woman replied curtly, and then, almost as if realizing I didn't have what she was looking for, she spun on her heels and back down the hallway.

Confused, I turned around as well, so that I was facing the table again. Where was my stylist? I thought for sure that this Cinna would be here by now. Was there some sort of problem that was causing a delay? What was this Portia woman doing? Wasn't that the name of Gale's…?

I heard a _click_ of a lock as the door shut behind me. Startled, I turned back around and opened my mouth to scream, to yell. My hand even, instinctively, went towards my back, where my sheath of arrows would be had I been in the woods and had it. My fingers just clasp the thin air. But then I see, with his back pressed against the door, Gale, his finger to his lips. He'd been the one to lock the door.

He smirks slightly when he sees that I'd reached for arrows that weren't there. I let my arm fall to my side at once. I can't even find it in me to be embarrassed.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I whispered harshly. Gale detaches himself from the back of the door. "Now what the _heck _are you doing here?"

He was wearing his clothes from before, and hardly looked any different than before. If anything, then, he was just a little rough around the edges. Now he seemed…smooth. If that was the word for it. They'd also cut his hair shorter, and I didn't like it as much.

A thought struck me. "Was that lady looking for you?"

"Catnip, they want to put makeup on me!" said Gale, exasperatedly.

"You're acting like a child," I replied, shaking my head at him, hardly believing that this was happening. Had he really run from them? But then again, maybe I should have expected just as much. Maybe my Cinna had joined the search party looking for the missing male tribute. Gale made no move, even in regards to my comment. His expression was hard-set, of a mind already made up. Haymitch was right about that stubbornness of his. All it was doing now was costing him.

"You said you'd do it! You said."

Gale looked at me warily, almost as if he knew that what he had done was wrong. He must, somewhere. "I know."

"Then what is this about? You have to go back!"

"I know."

I sighed very audibly. I felt just some guilt for chastising him as if I was his mother, even if he was acting like a child. I let myself sit back on the table. Gale still stands before me, unreadable as always. Could I really blame him for giving his stylist the slip? Everything in me seemed to scream _run_. Both our gooses were cooked…and he'd taken flight. Was I being too submissive? What if all the tributes did as he did? Why didn't they?

_We'd have a real rebellion on our hands, mind you._

"Will you look any different the next time I see you?" asked Gale, an unexpected question.

"I'll still look a lot like myself," I told Gale, making a new promise to him and to myself. "But will you?"

Gale opened his mouth immediately, words of defiance on the tip of his tongue. However, he stops himself before he says anything. "You want me to."

"You know what we have to do to win," I say, standing up from the table again. Wanting to keep my hair the way it was…maybe I was being just like him?

Reduced to mere children…

"I'll see you at the ceremony," I say to him, but my eyes elsewhere. "It'll be me there."

"Why wouldn't it be, Catnip?" asked Gale, a smirk crossing his face. Immediately the sentimentality was lost in him. Had I settled his nerves somewhat?

"I'll be the one in the blue eyeliner," Gale continued, nodding in fake enthusiasm. I can't help but laugh at the image it conjured of him in eyeliner.

"_Voted this year's hot color!"_ I say, in an imitation of the Capitol accent.

This gets a smile from Gale. We look into each other's eyes for a few seconds, until it seems we've both calmed each other down. We've survived through life together…we can survive through these Games too...

Gale waves me off. But as he does so, he looks at his hand curiously. It was so smooth now, almost as if years and years of their being at work had never happened in the first place… My fingers feel the palms of my hands. Both hands are free of all calluses. When I look back at Gale again, I see that his face had set back into that cold expression. Constantly being thrown together, we've grown to think similarly. We're on the same frequency; I know he's thinking the same thought as me,

_They've changed us already._

"Goodbye, Catnip," said Gale, turning away, unlocking the door. As soon as he steps out in the hallway, I hear a woman's scream from down the hall.

"Mr. Hawthorne!"

Gale turns back my way and sends me a smile from the doorway. Then he makes a run for it, in the opposite direction of the woman's voice. I let out a loud laugh. A few seconds after he's passed the doorway, I see Portia running after him, fast even in her high heels and her blonde curls bouncing around her face.

His smile wasn't real. But neither was my laughter.

"You only ever smile in the woods," Gale once said to me.

I sit back down on the table, dejected and depressed in his absence and I put my head in my hands. For the first time since I arrive, I really feel the impact of my circumstance. Unprecedented, a single tear runs down my left cheek. I quickly wipe away any traces that one had fallen. The familiarity of the woods, of my hair, of him…for how much longer could I cling to it?

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><p><strong>[AN] **The next chapter I'm really looking forward to writing! :) Like I said earlier, it's going to be different.

Please remember to review! As much as I love your "please update soons", what I really want are some suggestions! There's still a lot of stuff left to finalize! And PLEASE visit my profile to vote in the poll I posted, "Who should win in the Games?"

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><p><em>"It's not a silly little moment,<em>  
><em>It's not the storm before the calm.<em>  
><em>This is the deep and dying breath of<em>  
><em>This love that we've been working on."<em>

__with love,

alice


	8. Purple

_**~ NIGHTINGALE ~**_

**By SincerelyAlice**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 8: PURPLE<strong>

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><p><strong>[AN] **Chapter 8 is (finally) here! :D

I have to say, this one I have real mixed feelings about. I found it to be quite the challenge keeping Cinna in character. How do you think I did? Too serious? Please let the author know... preferably in the form of reviews...

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><p><strong>I responded to some reviews: :)<strong>

(please review...you may get a response!)

**tph1-RSM6- **hey good idea. :) Portia/Cinna chapter coming up!

**Linzerj: **A very good song. I probably won't recreate the rooftop scene, just for originality's sake. There will be something else. :)

**Nola:** There is actually something that happened between Effie and Gale, but that won't be expanded upon for a while more.

**Dodo: **That was a bit difficult to read, but I appreciate the uh, criticism. Thank you for taking time to look at Nightingale.

I'm not Suzanne Collins. And if you don't like Hunger Games or its author, I suggest you try searching through stories of a fandom you actually like, because if you don't like Hunger Games then I doubt you'd find something you'd like in its section on this website.

**Uh..Troll: **I don't intend on stopping this story short, especially with so many people reading it and on alert. I'll brush up on my present/past progressive tenses, but other than that I don't find my writing to be too horrible or detractive of the plot.

**Kittycat12346: **Thanks for the review, after some anonymous ones =.= I don't plan on telling the story from Gale's POV, and if I did it won't be for a while. There are still some things that need to be revealed first.

**YlvaThorgalsdottir: **What I said at the end of Chapter 1 was that "direct similarities" would end there. Of course there are some things that would still be the same even if Gale volunteered. Things were decided before the story even went into motion (i.e. the arena). A change in the time flow undergoes something known as the "butterfly effect." More will change as it goes on, like dominoes.

**Twilightlover4evr: **Kissing at the tribute parade? But they're still just friends. :)

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><p><strong>Titanium- <strong>David Guetta feat. Sia

(Look up the version by Madilyn Bailey...it's the one I prefer :D)

"Stone-hard, machine gun,  
>Firing at the ones who rise,<br>Stone-hard, thus bulletproof."

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><p>"Not a smart stunt," says Cinna, his dark eyebrows brought together in worry. My stylist was young, but this expression made him seem older than he really was. But I really didn't know why he would bother me about it. Does he really believe that what Gale does is also my doing?<p>

I eat more of this creamy orange chicken that I was served. Chicken I've only had a few times because it was more expensive than both turkey and duck. An orange I've had even less. I've only had it once actually. My father had brought one home for New Year's when I was younger, and I remember it being the sweetest thing.

Cinna is sitting opposite me on the other red sofa, and he watches me eat rather quietly. I don't know why, it isn't especially fascinating a spectacle. Growing up in my household, my mother always taught Prim and I to have good table manners. After all, she'd been taught to do that. So I have a folded napkin placed on the lap of my robe.

When Cinna received no response from me, he sighed heavily and continued. "You know, technically, we are supposed to report back any… 'incidents' that may occur. And this would definitely qualify."

A small movement, the subtle tensing of my fingers around the fork.

"It's a dangerous game you two are playing."

We are both too aware that Cinna is not talking about the Hunger Games. It's the blatant _rebellion_ he was talking about. I set the fork back down on the plate. Cinna straightens up, awaiting my response.

"Yes, yes it is," I answer, and my voice is thickened with all the emotion I'd been suppressing since I'd arrived here. "But you shouldn't expect either of us to win it anyways."

Cinna just raises an eyebrow at me. I had brought the subject back to the actual Hunger Games. I was different from Gale, and this simple differentiation meant that I knew what game board we were to remain on.

"You're new, aren't you?" I asked, my voice rising, remaining on the offensive. "That's why you were given District Twelve."

The undesirable district.

"I asked for District Twelve," Cinna replied calmly. He leaned back further against the couch, regarding me with that same complacent expression he's worn since we formally met.

I blink, stunned. He…_asked _for District Twelve? You don't do that! Could he not be from the Capitol, but from one of the districts? In favor of us? Somehow, this gives me a little hope. Because there weren't usually people like him from around here. What game was _he _playing?

I reached for one of the rolls. They were shaped like various flowers, but I did not know enough about them to know one from the other. I ripped through one with my teeth. His passiveness seemed to put me further from him…almost as if the table between our two sofas should cover more distance. I wanted to be able to hate this man. He must be from the Capitol, and he seemed to be unfazed by this "dangerous game" he described. He wasn't the one who had to partake…all he had to do, really, was send in the pieces. Whether or not he prepared us enough was no loss to him really.

But there was something about this Cinna that made him different. There were things about him besides the subtle ones. He had only a slight Capitol accent… and then there was his humble appearance. He wasn't dressed like the prep team, or like anyone else from the Capitol for that matter. He was dressed as simply as possible, in a black shirt and pants. His hair was cut close to his head, almost like how Gale's was done actually. Even his hair color looked like it was its natural shade of brown. The only part of his appearance that seemed to be altered even slightly was in his makeup. He wore gold eyeliner, but it was done in a sort of flourish with a light hand. It brought out the gold flecks in his green eyes.

Cinna noticed that I wasn't eating anymore, and that I appeared to be finished. Maybe he noticed how heavily I was analyzing him. He stood up from the red sofa, but I made no movement to follow. I continued to stare, transfixed at the remaining food on the table. How disgusting it looked now. How much strife there was, elsewhere, to put the food there. Seeming to sense my increasing hostility, even if it was misdirected, Cinna's expression softened a bit,

"Katniss, the incident will not be reported."

I looked up at my stylist unexpectedly, seeing if he had really meant it. I tried to trace any deception that may be dormant in his green eyes. But they seemed sincere enough. I said no words of thanks, I was just a little shocked at the collective decision not to go and report the stupid thing Gale had done. I was not sure what would have transpired had it been reported, but I was grateful for his sake that it wasn't.

"Come now," said Cinna, with a slight motion of his hand, heading towards the door. I noticed that he walked with a sort of grace to him.

One of four walls of the room was just a window, overlooking the city. Cinna looked upon the Capitol, and then motioned me once more to join him. I stood beside him to look at what he was. The glamour of the Capitol. I wasn't sure how I must have looked, gazing upon it all, but I definitely did not know how Cinna did. The reflection of the Capitol was in his eyes but it was reflected just how it was, not any more beautiful or less.

"Believe it or not... Katniss, we do want you to win."

I tore away my eyes from the splendor, and instead looked at Cinna to see how he'd continue.

Cinna must have seen that I seemed skeptical. "Portia and I... we do. And I know that you think we do not care. That all I care about, as your stylist, is my own debut as being a Hunger Games designer and salary. Or, with it, my promotion to a higher district if I do well."

I hadn't even gone as far to consider that the better a stylist represented the district they were designed, the more they would get paid for it. However, this did not offset me very much. I continued to listen to what Cinna was saying, interested.

"We want District 12 to have a winner this year," said Cinna, giving me a small smile. The smile seemed like it was intended towards me, that he specifically wanted me to win. I felt a little special.

"But for that to happen, you two have to trust us."

I tensed slightly, feeling some shame because I wasn't sure if I could. I lay my hand upon the glass. But I did know he was right in that I had to trust him and Haymitch as well.

Cinna smiles at me, and then lets out a low laugh. He feels around in the pocket of his pants for something. "Now, I'm not from around here but even I haven't seen any of these for a while."

He takes out the golden mockingjay pin that Madge had given me.

"That's my pin!" I say, but by the way he's still smiles at me lets me know that he'd already come to that conclusion. I take it from his hands and look it over to really makes sure it is mine.

"You say you've seen these before?" I ask, not missing that he'd said he wasn't from the Capitol. "Cinna, what district are you from?"

Cinna just laughs again, and starts to walk towards the door. I trail behind him, awaiting his answer to my question. Could he be from 12, was that why he had chosen to be a stylist for this district?

"Look at you, you're so happy. Come now, that's not important. What's important is that we get you into your costume, after all we are already behind schedule thanks to our other tribute..."

I follow after him to where I'd be fitted for the opening ceremony, still eagerly asking him about where he is from. Cinna just laughs and tells me that I really could put myself in high spirits if I'd like to.

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><p>"Now, you're saying Gale's wearing the same thing?" I asked Cinna incredulously, delirious under all these bright lights. I was all dressed up, and with a nervous expectation. I still had this ridiculous thought of Gale in the same sort of predicament. I sat back upon the table, in a small effort to retie some frayed nerves. I kept my legs kicking forward because my body had to remain in motion to keep my mind busy with it.<p>

"Yes," assured Cinna quietly. He took both my hands in his and held them tightly together. His cool touch seemed to calm me just slightly, like skimming your toes in shallow water. I regained my breath. My legs fell against the side of the table again. One boot had been untied. "They are complimentary costumes…"

Cinna bent down on one knee to retie the laces on my boot before I could even insist he not. "Portia and I agreed that the coal miner thing is a little overdone. We want the two of you to be remembered and frankly, coal dust doesn't cut it."

At least, I thought, we're wearing _something _this year. I'm dressed in a black unitard, with gleaming leather boots up to my knees. But the cape – the cape! The cape and its matching headpiece, Cinna says, will be lit on fire just before the chariot leaves for the opening ceremony. He told me that he and Portia had worked together to create a synthetic fire just for us. He said that they had started the project months ago, when they had just found out they would be partners for our district. They had perfected it just for us.

Gale and I would be lit on fire for our debut. This, Cinna had insisted, would have us be remembered this year.

Cinna gave my hand small squeeze, and my fingers convulsed slightly. I'd forgotten that he'd been holding my hand. I sent him an appreciative smile back, letting him know that I was thankful for all that he was doing for me. He'd remained quiet while making me over, but he was encouraging in his own way. Cinna had applied minimal makeup for me to wear. He had brushed out my long hair and then redone my braid. It was done the way my mother had done it at the reaping. He must have noticed it while watching and wanted to replicate the style in which it was done.

"I want the audience to recognize you when you're in the area," Cinna said, an awe in his voice. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire."

He was surely psychotic…

This is when Gale arrives, flanked by his prep team and the woman who was named Portia. Gale is dressed identically to me, his outfit just slightly modified. Instead of a unitard, he has pants but of the same material. I brighten a bit, just at his presence. But Gale remains sullen, and the face he wears is the face of someone who's already been defeated, his willpower and his dignity already gone to ashes. I wonder if he'd gotten reprimanded.

Portia and the prep team surround Cinna, talking excitedly. He, if anything, just seemed a bit weary as he accepted thanks from everybody else. Focusing on the fire, rather than the coal, had been his idea. He doesn't accept thanks for a very long time, instead, he suggests that they get downstairs to the stables and not be later than we already are.

Gale and I don't say anything. Instead, we share a silent exchange through our eyes.

_You don't resist_, I conveyed through a slight narrowing of my eyes, my head looking back over my shoulder. No more pleading with him, because that didn't seem to work. To this, Gale's crossed arms tightened around his chest, and he looked the other way, saying back, _we don't stop doing that just because we're here now._

The two of us were led down to the lowest level of the Remake Center (Gale, hesitantly, which scared us all). I kept looking to make sure Gale was still with me, and for some sanctity of mind.

This was, essentially, a stable for the horses. All of the other tributes were down there already, or had left with their prep teams and their assigned horses. Some of the tributes (of whom were still there) were dressed so extravagantly, all walking about with such an air of confidence. These were the districts that always had the best...

The ride to the Training Center lasts about twenty minutes, and most of it is spent in silence. This is the place where Gale and I will be until the opening ceremonies begin.

Portia, Cinna, and the prep teams are talking among themselves excitedly again, mostly about how brilliant we will be out there tonight. I can't be excited, because aside from my fear of becoming a Katniss-kabob, I was scared of what Gale might do. Or…what he might not do.

Most do not give Gale and I a second glance. The tributes of District 1 are dressed so lavishly. They were adorned to look like statues of stone. The god and the goddess. District 1 is the richest district, and makes luxury items for the Capitol. The both of them are dripping in jewels. Their carriage goes out first, led by horses white as fresh snow. We can hear the cheering of the crowd outside. I'm taken aback by how loud it is.

Portia and Cinna have Gale and I stand atop our coach in appropriate positions. We don't have to direct our two horses. They've already been well-trained. Our horses, in stark contrast to District 1's, are black as coal.

Gale and I watch as every carriage goes before us. In almost no time at all, only District 11 is alongside our carriage. Their horses are speckled brown and white. The boy and the girl are dressed in an autumn style, the girl had a crown of leaves on her head. I find myself looking at her too long and she notices. I quickly redirect my attention back to my own predicament.

Cinna comes forward, to Gale and I, holding a lighted torch. The glow from the fire lights up Cinna's face from below, and I reckon he is a pyromaniac. He steps up onto the carriage. He lights us up before we can even react. I gasp because I expect to feel something. But there is no scalded skin, not even a hint of heat. Relief comes, and it is just so sweet that it can conjure the bitter ghost of a smile.

"Gale!" I gasp, now looking him over in utter disbelief. "Your flame, it's…it's blue!"

Gale, despite himself, has to go to look. His eyes are wide as he takes in his appearance, and so wide that I can see that because of the color of the flame the blue in his eyes was brought out.

"So it is…" he says quietly, turning and now looking into my eyes. His eyes, a blue incandescence, are so beautiful; they seemed to change his whole expression entirely. And adorned in the bright blue blaze _he_ was beautiful.

Cinna regains my attention by putting his hand under my chin, lifting it up slightly and towards the sky, which was growing gray.

"Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

Cinna then takes the time to step off the chariot, but as he turns to walk back towards Portia he seems to be claimed by one last idea. He turns back around to face Gale and I again. He is saying something, but the music is too loud and we can't hear what it is. Cinna makes wild gestures with his hands, now trying to yell so that he can be heard. However, I still can't.

"He wants us to…hold hands," I say reluctantly, but I make any motion to do so now. I turn to Cinna and nod so that he knows the message was received. Cinna breaks into a smile at us, and that's the last thing I see before the horses move and Gale and I are propelled into the public of the Capitol.

_The people_. There are more of them that I thought there were in existence. And they all had their heads turned towards Gale and I. They see us. And now they won't look anywhere else. It's grown louder, much louder than it had been any other time. I see on the screens, a girl and a boy and they're on fire. We _were _brilliant! One was in a red flame and the other in blue. I watch as the girl slowly smiles, growing accustomed to her surroundings. I remember what Cinna says about my being in high spirits.

Something pulls me abruptly from my thoughts. Gale has my hand in his, our fingers intertwined. I look to my left and see that it is Gale. The boy on the screen is really Gale! He clutches my hand tighter, and even then there is so much going on around us, it seems like we are all that matters. I don't think of his holding my hand as something staged, but rather, something genuinely intended because he was saying that I was not going into this alone. That no matter what he was following me into this and he would remain by my side.

Then he brings our arms up in a strong array, and I feel triumph. I smile much wider. The crowd is now going crazy at this display of togetherness. I look once more back at the TV screens, still focused on us, to see how we look.

The fire has become one; and purple.

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><p><strong>[AN] :)**

**Please...review! :D**

"I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose,  
>Fire away, fire away.<br>Richochet, take your aim  
>Fire away, fire away<br>You shoot me down, but I won't fall,  
>I am titanium!"<p> 


	9. Burning Low

_**~ NIGHTINGALE ~**_

**By SincerelyAlice [new username]**

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><p><strong>Chapter 9: BURNING LOW<strong>

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><p><strong>[AN] It's been a few months since my last update. **I apologize to all of you who have this fanfiction on wait. This chapter is a longer one, so I hope that can satisfy you all somewhat. Really I've been very busy with school and my 2 jobs, but I am making a new effort to update more. Also, **I am looking for a beta**. If anyone would like to, they can send me a PM. If I had a beta I would be able to update chapters quicker and I think the quality would improve on the writing if someone else would help me edit. So send me a message if you are interested.**  
><strong>

Also,** I will take submissions for art for this story.**..I understood that you can now put up pictures for a fanfiction?

Anyway, thank you again for all of your patience. For those of you who forgot, this is what is going on:

Katniss volunteered to take Prim's place in the Hunger Games, and in turn Gale volunteered to take Peeta's place. Katniss is not yet sure why Gale volunteered, what he has answered with was somewhat vague to her. Peeta is hinting at knowing why Gale volunteered in this turn of events. Haymitch thinks that he has a strategy that Katniss and Gale should use in the Games, but he has not yet revealed his idea.

In the previous chapter, Katniss and Gale took part in the opening ceremonies. They were lit on fire, Katniss was red and Gale blue.

We are taking a short break to look back at what is going on in District 12. See you all at the bottom!

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><p><strong>PEETA'S POV:<strong>

School was taken off today for the opening ceremonies even though they wouldn't be played until at least six o'clock, and that would be live. It was, apparently, a few hours later by timezone in the Capitol, but I had no idea how much later.

My older brothers were going out for the afternoon, but I'd agreed to stay home with Dad to help him out in the bakery for the day. That meant getting up at five in the morning to start the morning's bread so that we could open up by six am.

"_Hello, Peeta," said the young girl, whose blue eyes suddenly couldn't meet his own. Her gaze met the wooden doorstep where she stood, and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot. She then seemed to gather up the necessary courage to look back up. She did not seem to have expected seeing Peeta at the door. Peeta was tall in stature, and also thick-set, but Prim could see in his soft facial expression, now set into a warm smile, that he was as kind as his father. He did not seem to have expected seeing Katniss's little sister there either._

_And so she shouldn't be timid when asking this favor of him…_

I sighed, roughly running my fingers through my hair. The sick feeling of nausea gathering in my stomach wasn't just because I'd decided not to eat anything before work. I knew that I was already dreading tonight. I tied a white apron, stained from use, around my waist. I wouldn't be thinking of that...at least not now. Maybe later.

It wasn't too strenuous really, waking up at five. It had actually become a sort of normal for the Mellark household. Early mornings. But it wasn't too strenuous really, kneading the dough, shaping it, and then baking it. We always make the actual dough the night before, and then keep it cold until the next morning.

More often that as of late, it had been me up before the sun rose. While my older brothers had been taking on more interests, and elsewhere, (and Mandarin in one particular female) I hadn't really given an alternate occupation much thought. It had become… sort of assumed that I'd take on the bakery after my father. And what that meant was that my father was working me really hard and teaching me everything in increments.

I'm not really sure what would have happened had I remained the male tribute of District 12.

I slipped on the worn red and black checkered oven mitts, before giving them a frown. No, I really wasn't too bothered about the fact that I had no choice in the matter. After all, it seemed as if I had never had a choice in anything in the first place.

I furrowed my eyebrows because I knew what was really bothering me. I could no longer find it in me to care.

I used the back of one of the mitts to wipe the sweat from my forehead. It was getting real hot down here. The ceramic ovens were all located beneath the bakery, but the heat could rise through vents in the ceilings. Anyone would prefer to be upstairs, icing the desserts or assisting customers. That's what I'd done when I was younger, and my older brothers were the ones who had helped out with the more difficult duties.

_Anyone_, I thought, _would rather be up there_. Sleeping. I brushed some of my wet blonde hair from my eyes. Dad would always solicitously advise me not to stay down here for more than an hour at a time, and it was nearing that long. It just got too hot.

My being reaped was still something I could not fathom as actually having happened. I felt like…more than anything…that I shouldn't be here. That I really wasn't, and that my form here was just going through the motions. It seemed like I was not the only one with that notion; when people saw me they looked right through me. There was the guilt, some form of survivor's guilt that I got because of Gale's being there. I tried to reassure myself that he would have volunteered regardless of who was chosen. But I did not really know that, and it was an unfair accusation to make against him.

I sighed, trying to lose myself in what I was doing. I'd put the dough in a little over twenty minutes ago, so it should be done by now. I decided that I'd check in on it. I swung open the door of the oven and peered in. I felt sweat run down in a trail on the right side of my face. Deciding that I couldn't see well enough, I used the mitts to pull out the top tray. If that loaf was done, the others should be as well…

Suddenly, there was a clanging of pots behind me, and being so startled I dropped the metal tray, which, along with the loaf of bread, clattered to the ground. I stood up quickly to turn around, effectively banging my head on the top of the oven.

"PEETA!"

Hissing in pain, I promptly sunk to my knees. Quickly slipping off the warm oven mitts, I brought my hands to my forehead where I knew the burn was that I had just gotten. I found myself unable to access the damage other than that there was damage.

I slowly opened my eyes to find where the voice had come from, and saw my mother standing at the base of the stairs, unsure of whether to come forward or not. She seemed, more than anything, out of place. which is an accurate accusation because I don't think in any of my sixteen years of life I'd seen her down here. And at five thirty in the morning no less!

Finally, as if making her decision, she took a step forward towards me, where I was still crouched on the ground.

"Peeta, I-"

"Turn them off," I muttered under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear.

"What?" she asked, now weary.

"Turn off the ovens," I said, now a little louder. The second time I was unable to suppress the growing irritation in my voice.

My mother seemed taken aback, but regained her composure. She then did as I said. She walked around me to where the three central ovens were located. She stepped precariously around the metal tray that still lay on the ground.

With a sharp intake of breath, I was able to get back on my feet. I turned around to watch my mother as she stood before the ovens, a little unsure of what she was supposed to do. But finally she was able to make sense of how to work the dials, and with a click she turned off the heat.

"Thank you," I said, my hand straying to my forehead again. I looked down at the loaf that was on the floor, but it was crisscrossed with black burn marks from the tray. It could not be sold like that. Somehow that familiar image stung at me, and it was more than the burn across my head stung. I turned from my mother before I felt the first of some salty tears leak out of my eyes.

"Let's get you upstairs," said my mother, and one would think that there was concern behind it. However, I knew that was not true.

"I just have to do this ...first..." I replied, but seeing the basement suddenly dim to black, I stumbled forward only to catch myself on the adjacent wall.

"Peeta!" my mother cried, coming towards me at once. "Come on, I'm bringing you upstairs."

I realized now that the dizziness in my head was too present for me to ignore. So I obliged wordlessly, and my mother let me lean on her shoulder as she led me back up the stairs. Her slim form did little to support me, but as soon as I made it out of the basement and away from the fumes I began to feel better and definitely not like I would faint.

I was sat down at one of the tables while my mother went off to get my father...or perhaps, something for my burn on my forehead. I held my hands to my face tenderly, making sure not to touch the skin surrounding the burn. I let myself close my eyes.

I'm such an _idiot, _I thought. And I was just _this close _to being a tribute in the Hunger Games. Obviously I couldn't even bake a loaf of bread without endangering myself...and my mother. What if something had caught fire?

I heard my mother reenter the room, and I looked up to see she was holding a damp washcloth. Before she could reach me, I stopped her with a question.

"Why were you down there anyway?"

My mother blinked, as if she honestly hadn't expected the question. But she didn't say anything, instead, she approached me and dabbed the washcloth onto the burn. I immediately cringed at the feel of the cold on my forehead, but my mother held the side of my head firmly in place. After the initial cold, the sensation began to feel better on the burn. Still, I remained stiffened and uncomfortable with her harping over me.

"I just...wanted to see how you were doing," my mother replied quietly, and I tried to see what expression she wore on her face to accompany this bizarre answer. However, she was looking away, and so I couldn't see her face.

I recognized this for what it was, and let me explain. Ever since my almost being reaped, my mother had been acting sort of different around me. So I guess I shouldn't have been too shocked at her coming downstairs. It was some emotion she was emitting, some emotion somewhere between pity and gratitude. And of course none of it was vocal- the most emotion I'd seen out of her was when she'd cried when I'd returned to the audience after Gale had volunteered for me. After that- nothing. At least it wasn't like how it was before...but I couldn't necessarily say it was better than that.

Altogether, it had made for an awkward couple of days. And it's not like my brothers were any different...but they took more to avoiding me, expecting some sort of repercussion from me. Mandarin was now too old to play in the Games, but my two other brothers were both of age and could have volunteered to take my place. I wasn't mad at them because in all honest truth, I could not expect that kind of sacrifice from either of my eligible brothers. That's what made Katniss's selfless sacrifice for her sister so special. I could not expect that from anybody, especially not for me.

Gale hadn't sacrificed himself for _me_, really.

"You alright, son?" I heard my father's voice from somewhere else in the living room. I detached myself from my thoughts long enough to find the source of the voice.

"Yeah...just a burn and a bump," I replied with a small smile.

"No need to help out for today," my father replied. Before I could even open my mouth to protest, he continued, "We were going to close up early today, but I think we should just close for the whole day."

"That sounds like a good idea," said my mother, now looking towards my father. "Could you replace Peeta's washcloth? I think I'm going to make some tea."

My father and I watched as my mother left for the kitchen, her fleece robe and all.

"What was she doing, going down there anyway?" I asked, once I was sure she'd gone.

My father just smiled broadly back at me. "She wanted to check up on you."

I pressed the washcloth firmly against my forehead, even though it'd grown lukewarm. "Yeah, okay. She could have been watching where she was walking."

My father's eyebrows just creased with my sullen response. "Now, don't say that. She feels bad as is."

I said nothing to this, more so because I couldn't really believe it was true. For years, my father had tried to convince me that my mother did care, just in her own way. That there was something in her to love.

My father asked, changing the subject, "Are you still up for going to the opening ceremonies tonight? With the Everdeens?"

"..Yes."

It's not like I could have skipped out on seeing them anyway- my father was just asking if I felt like staying home to watch instead. However, my ailment did nothing to alter my decision, one that I'd made yesterday. Even if I didn't want to follow through with my decision I would anyway.

_"My mother and I...well, we were just wondering if you and your family would like to see the opening ceremonies with us," said Prim, twiddling the tips of her blonde braids nervously. She'd been wearing her hair like that since Katniss had left._

_I didn't answer right away._

_"I mean, we asked the Hawthornes already but Hazelle already said that there were just too many of them and they were staying home to watch anyway."_

_I seemed to internally relax a little at hearing this piece of news, but still I gave no immediate response._

"Brutus? You still did not change Peeta's washcloth?"

"Sorry, dear," replied my father, standing up from his chair. He gave me a sheepish smile before taking the washcloth from me to run it under cold water. I gasped as he removed it from my grasp, the searing pain from the burn returning tenfold. I lowered my hand and bit the side of my lip.

My mother emerged from the other room, holding a silver tray with three steaming cups of tea. It took a good few minutes to boil the water for tea. I realized then that for a period of time my father and I must have just sat in silence.

I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother that I didn't care for tea, it was too bitter the way she made it... we couldn't afford sugar to spare for tea. Still, I just took the teacup closest to me. She only made tea for me when I was sick, because I never said I wanted any otherwise. The tea was in the fine china, the only kind my mother allowed herself to use. The teacups were a gleamy white, etched with blue roses.

_Maybe it was the blue eyes that eventually broke Peeta. He smiled again and assured Prim, "Of course we'll be there. I'm telling you for all of my family that we will be there for you and your mother for support." Peeta knew that his father, especially, was very fond of Primrose Everdeen._

_"Thank you, Peeta!" cried Prim, and all awkwardness aside, she gave Peeta a hug. Or rather, she latched her small arms his midsection. Peeta, in turn, awkwardly bent forward to pat the top of her hair._

I watched warily as my mother took a sip of her tea. She seemed to really enjoy the hot beverage; it was something she drank every morning. Of course, morning for my mother usually meant at least nine o'clock... I couldn't help but notice how tired she looked, but the caffeine in the tea seemed to help.

My mother finally regained her awareness, and looked me back in the eye. Hers were blue, like mine, although darker. Just a little red. We shared an uncomfortable silence before I finally took a sip of my tea.

However, I couldn't even get a mouthful down without having to put the cup back down. The temperature of the tea clashed horribly in my head, intensifying the feel of the burn. I couldn't drink anymore, at least not while it was this hot.

My mother, because she'd been watching me so intently, noticed my discomfort and put her teacup down as well. She looked away again, and I took it away just for awkwardness...and I thought maybe I'd seemed unappreciative of the tea she'd made for me...

But then I remembered what my father said. And I really looked at my mother, perhaps for the first time in too long... and what I saw was unsettling. It was _guilt _that she wore... and it wasn't that I couldn't drink the tea because it was too hot. She felt bad because, on her account, I'd gotten hurt in the first place.

Even if I didn't believe it or didn't want to, I couldn't deny it now. My mother _was _trying. And the least I could do was try as well.

I stood up, slowly as to avoid any dizziness, but then smiled down at my mother. I held the teacup in between my hands.

"A little iced tea would do me some good, don't you think?" I asked, motioning to the teacup.

She looked at me warily before taking the porcelain teacup from my hands. She didn't quite return the smile but her mouth was pulled in a way it looked as if she was trying to. And it was a start.

"Whoah, Peeta! How'd ya get that?"

I rolled my eyes as I was asked this question for the third time now. Lio, seventeen, stared with curious eyes at the long white bandage that I'd wrapped around my forehead.

"Can I...can I poke it?" Lio asked, sounding almost in awe.

"No, Lionel," said our mother sternly, who was washing the dishes. She had appeared not to be paying attention. Lio automatically flinched, resting his hand back on the kitchen table. There was an abrupt silence, the sound of the water running from the faucet and the clattering of silverware serving as background noise.

"Mother, did you make breakfast?" asked Theo, who, with scrunched eyebrows, was eying his scrambled eggs with something like wariness.

She was still scrubbing down the plates with a sponge, but did not say anything.

I saw my older brothers share a significant look. And I knew why. Our mother _never, ever _cooked. It was something she hadn't done when she was younger, and being married to a baker meant it was something she didn't do now. I moved aside some of my bacon to see that the plates she'd used were some of the fine china.

"Your father had to clean up the mess downstairs," she replied curtly.

"Geez, Peeta," said Lio, looking at me expectantly. "What did you do?"

I didn't answer, I just took another bite of toast. For my mother's sake, I wasn't revealing to the others that the real reason I'd bumped my head was because she had come downstairs early to "check up on me."

I had a bite of the bread. Hmm. It had actually come out alright. We'd already agreed to bring over a few of the extra loaves to the Everdeens.

"Is it okay if I see Ivy tonight, Mother?" asked Mandarin.

"Yes… but do remember that we are going to the Everdeens before the ceremonies start. So I expect you home by six o'clock."

"Thanks!" said Mandarin graciously, laying down his fork and knife. "May I be excused?"

"Yes."

Mandarin smiled broadly before bounding up to his bedroom, probably to change so that he could go out to see Ivy as soon as possible.

Upon his loud exit, the twins, Theo and Lio, were able to soundlessly slink away from the breakfast table, leaving only me remaining.

I laughed. The two of them, even collectively, had hardly eaten a thing.

"May I be excused too, Mother?" I asked.

"Yes. Do you plan on going out today?"

"Maybe…" I replied, evasively. "Why?"

"I just wanted to know."

I rolled my eyes, even though she wouldn't see it. What did she think I would be doing? "I'm sixteen years old."

She did not respond to this, which was a little weird, but I dismissed it before leaving the kitchen and going up to my bedroom. I expected Mandarin to at least to ask me about what had happened this morning.

Mandarin and I shared a bedroom, and he was so into what he was doing that he did not notice my entrance until I appeared behind him in the mirror. He had a little start, then turned to face me eagerly.

"You know Ivy's been dying to meet you," replied Mandarin, straightening his black frames, before turning again to eye himself in the mirror. His dirty blonde hair was getting really long, and it was always messy. Our mother got on him for it all of the time. That was why his trying to tidy it was so amusing to me.

I shook my head in disapproval, but I was really laughing to myself at his antics.

"Really? That's why you want me to tag along? Ivy wants to meet one of your brothers?"

"Well she'd want to at least meet the normal one..." said Mandarin, but seeing that I didn't buy into it, he sighed and continued, "Okay, I'll admit it…we haven't been dating long enough to be past that awkward 'oh we're alone now so we have to find something to talk about' stage…"

I couldn't help but, "I knew it!

"And for the fifth time now, you look _fine_," I added, ruffling up his hair again to set him off. It was kind of funny how Manny had been acting lately. Of course, the only one who saw him like this, the frantic and lovesick Mandarin, was me. He did not express himself so vividly around the twins or the parents.

"Would you come if you had a friend with you?" asked Mandarin, now back on the original request, and eager for me to oblige.

"I don't know..." I replied, honestly unsure if given the choice, _who _I would bring.

"How about..." Mandarin began purposefully, "A double date?"

I blushed, and this was enough for Manny to continue.

"I remember you told me a while back that there was this girl you liked...you still like her?"

Realizing whom he meant, I immediately shook my head. Not that I was saying no to his specific question, just that it was an overall "no."

Well-used to my sensitivity on the subject, Mandarin just tsked at me. "Alright, little brother. But someday you will tell her how much you love her. And maybe she'll say she loves you too."

"Manny, I can't believe you're talking like this already!" I said, playfully shoving Mandarin's face away from mine. He readjusted his glasses, which I had set crooked.

"Now, Peeta..." he began, undaunted, but I cut him off before he could continue.

I shook my head in mock disapproval at the airy hopelessness in his voice. "How long have you been seeing her?"

"Three weeks and five days..."

"Exactly," I replied with a final smirk, before leaving his bedroom. I'd realized what I'd wanted to do today, and it certainly did not involve being a third wheel on my older brother's date.

I'd taken to going outside. It was part _I had no idea what I wanted to do now that I didn't have to help out Dad_, part _my head kind of hurts_, and part ...well... part I had a lot on my mind.

From up here in the apple tree, I could see as far as the woods beyond the electric fence at District Twelve's limits.

I could only wonder how Katniss was doing. She must have been at the Capitol since yesterday...right? I realized that I really knew little about what happened between the tributes' appearances on television. How was seeing her on the screen going to feel? I mean, I'd been watching the replays of the reapings plenty of times, but I knew that this was going to be different. I mostly held mixed feelings…

I watched as younger children ran down the street, towards the bakery. They seemed blissfully ignorant to what was going on, ecstatic because they were off of school and oblivious to the reasons why. I smiled from where I sat in the apple tree and waved down towards the group of children. Upon noticing me, only a few actually waved back.

Then, one of the tle liboys noticed that there were some apples gathered under the tree. Immediately the kids raced towards the base of the trunk and began to pick up as many of the fallen apples as they could carry, the girls filling their skirts with the ripened fruit. They usually weren't too bruised, anyway. The branches were too high for anyone from the ground to pick the fruit, but my family and I would never chastise anyone who strolled by for taking the fallen fruit from the ground.

Once they physically could not carry anymore of the fruit, the children skipped down towards the street, dropping a few of the apples as they went. A few more turned around to smile and wave towards me again. The children really looked like they were from the Seam. All kind of dirty and darkened by the soot from the coal.

Katniss and Gale were probably eating gourmet Capitol food… the thoughts intruded again, how easily it could have been me there. How easily I would not be sitting up in this apple tree. The children would still be running around, they would still find the apples beneath.

But they would still be hungry.

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><p>"What is that on your forehead?" Mrs. Everdeen asked me, before any exchanged greetings, promptly upon me and my family's entering the town square.<p>

I looked uneasily between my father and my three brothers, unsure of what or how to answer.

No response given, Mrs. Everdeen took this as consent and she quickly closed the gap between us. She began to peel at the inexpertly wrapped gauze on my head, looking very concerned with what may be underneath.

I felt my mother's long fingernails clutch possessively at my arm, tensing up with Mrs. Everdeen's movement.

"That will not be necessary, Edna," my mother cut in, and rather coldly. She pulled me back towards her.

Mrs. Everdeen's blue eyes widened, not realizing that she had somehow offended my mother. She let go of the loosened piece of gauze she had been holding between her fingers. She pulled at her hair nervously. The gauze trailed between my eyes, and I decided to leave it as is.

"Um, here you go," said Lionel, trying to initiate a new conversation.

"The bread," finished Theodus, and the two boys held forward the loaves of bread that we'd brought for the Prim and her mother.

"Oh, thank you," said Mrs. Everdeen, taking them in her arms. She gave my family a small thin-lipped smile, kind of like one Katniss would give. I felt my heart throb just ever so slightly.

The adults then entered into casual small talk, but I could sense a sort of weighing tension over them. The opening ceremonies would be on very soon, and I think the anticipation of it was giving everyone a little anxiety.

Unknown to the others, Prim had lifted herself on her tip toes, asking me quietly if she may take a peek at what was underneath the gauze. I lowered myself onto my knees so that she was able to examine the wound on my head. I was letting her look at it with no objection because, besides being unable to say no, she seemed so sternly intent on giving her synopsis. She pulled away at the gauze so gently that it did not cause me any further pain, and the look in her eyes was similar to Mrs. Everdeen's. Once she had finished looking at it, she re-wrapped the gauze around my head tightly.

"Mother," said Prim, softly. She pulled on the hem of Mrs. Everdeen's dress to gain her full attention. "He's got a burn. And it looks as if it could get infected."

The adults fell into an abrupt silence, now all looking down at Prim and I. I got up to my feet, now a little self-conscious at my being examined by a twelve-year old.

"Infected?" repeated my father incredulously, looking at me again. "Now, what could we do about that?"

"I could treat that for you, if you would let me," said Mrs. Everdeen uncertainly, her eyes trained on my forehead. I felt myself flush a little at all the attention. Mrs. Everdeen then turned towards my mother, more for her approval than my own. "It would really no trouble. Consider it as thanks for the bread."

I cut in, "I-"

_Welcome to the 74__th__ Hunger Games!_

The lot of us startled, the spokesman's voice resounding throughout the entirety of the district. Ceasing what we had been doing, we came in closer to the crowd so that we could see the image now appearing on the television screens better.

"Don't worry Peeta, I'll give you something for that burn," whispered Mrs. Everdeen under the noise. I just nodded.

I felt someone put their hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see that it was Mandarin. He squeezed my shoulder affectionately, and I leaned in to him appreciatively. Manny really had helped me to alleviate some of the guilt that I'd been feeling.

They were replaying the reapings again before the opening ceremonies started. I watched for District 12 in particular. I'd seen this video clip tens of times. First, Prim's name is called, she begins walking down the aisle. Katniss steps forward to volunteer to take her sister's place. So that Katniss could move forward, Gale must hold back Prim. She looks to be in hysterics...

Then there was that same, ghastly close-up of my face as the me in the video heard my name called by Effie Trinket. The screen was split in half so that Gale could also be seen. He does not appear to be indecisive; rather, he walks forward with unprecedented precision. This is not lost to the spokespeople, who commend his decisiveness in those keystone seconds. He then cries out to the crowd, an echo of Katniss's, "I volunteer as tribute!"

After Gale's proclamation, my face takes the full screen for a few seconds, and the registering shock on it seems to be reflective of all who has gathered there. That is when the me on the screen returns to the crowd and to all the others. I am not a second thought to the Capitol or Panem anymore. Gale's image replaces mine. He then turns to his mother and says what looks like a last goodbye to her. He stoops forward and kisses her softly on the cheek before parting.

I looked away then. I'd seen it tens of times. Then why, even when I watched it now, did I still see that something did not seem to correlate correctly?

It was this very slight detail from the first clip to the second of Gale, and it bothered me. There was a very slim rip in his collar in the first, but none in the second. Chronologically, it did not seem to make sense. How could this have been overlooked by the Capitol? Sure, the coverage in District 12 is of relatively poor quality, and especially because the cameras were flitting between so many people… but didn't someone realize that the second clip was really recorded before the first one, unless Gale had sewn up his shirt in the time between them?

Manny squeezed my shoulder again. He must believe that I was looking away from the screens because I was feeling depressed again. I felt someone take my other hand, and I saw that it was Prim. She was smiling up at me, trying to stay strong. Was it for me?

But who or what ripped the collar of Gale's shirt during the reaping anyway? Could it have been Prim, when she wrestling in his grip? It was a difficult angle to access, but it looked as if he had no rip running towards Katniss's sister... in the confusion I doubted anyone could have noticed if it had been then…

If this claim was true, this would suggest…

Gale had exchanged words, given Mrs. Hawthorne a parting kiss before my name had even been chosen. While his shirt collar was still perfectly intact, as the clip would suggest.

The female tribute is always chosen before the male, as Effie Trinket would say, "Ladies first." So Gale had held back Prim when Katniss had climbed the scaffold, before my name was called. _Before _Gale had volunteered for me.

I watched as the two, Katniss and Gale, shook hands. And there it was, his collar had that rip in it!

I let go of Prim's hand and I backed away from Mandarin. They both eyed me curiously, but I provided no explanation to my sudden withdrawal from them and the others. The two of them turned back to the television screens and towards the speakers, which had begun playing the music for the opening ceremonies. I paid either no notice.

This exchange between Gale and his mother…it could have been even before Katniss had been chosen!

_And with no further ado, let the opening ceremonies commence!_

_Now, the importance of this moment cannot be understated..._

That I only knew the half of it was very unnerving to me. I had to have this fully figured out before anyone else...

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><p><strong>[AN] **Thank youfor reading! Leave me a** review**, let me know you're still reading this story of mine! And if you're interested in becoming a **beta**, please let me know! I'm looking for one. :)

I hope I explained Peeta's discovery enough. And it is certainly relevant! Check Chapter 1 if you do not remember a rip in a shirt...

P.S. There is also a Hunger Games poll on my profile if you want to vote for who should win in this fic.

Bye. :)

-Alice


	10. You Don't Know How They Play

**_~ NIGHTINGALE ~_**

**by SincerelyAlice**

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><p><strong>Chapter 10: YOU DON'T KNOW THEY PLAY<strong>

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><p><strong>[AN] **A quicker update than last time. We're back with Katniss and Gale in the Capitol. Katniss's POV. It's not a lot of action, again...but just as important as a chapter with it. Just another transition chapter...I'm not really sure what I think of it but I'm glad that I can finally submit this. More Katniss and Gale interaction...and some Haymitch too. There's also the entrance of a side character I think we all remember from the original series...

Do enjoy! :3

-Alice

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><p>The two of us are back in the hotel where we will be staying until we go into the Games. All of the other tributes are also boarding here, although elsewhere in the hotel. Because Gale and I are from District 12, we have the penthouse suite. Not that we really cared, all it meant to us is that we always took the elevator the longest.<p>

It's the morning after the conclusion of the opening ceremonies. We were both too used to waking up early to sleep late. Everyone else was still sleeping in though. We'd both gone to the living room to sit down and talk until Effie and Haymitch woke up and gave us the agenda for the afternoon. We weren't on the couches. We preferred sitting cross-legged on the carpet, or, in my case, lying on my stomach.

"Wouldn't it be interesting if they planned this?" I began, adjusting myself so that I, on the floor, was leaning forward on my elbows. "Planned that we'd both be the tributes. That would sure teach us a lesson for poaching in the woods."

"Yeah, but Katniss…" Gale began, "they didn't choose us. They really chose Prim and Peeta Mellark."

"Hmm…maybe they knew we'd somehow be the ones going anyway," I conclude, still much more comfortable with my being here than Prim. I didn't want to admit it, but having Gale here with me right now was more comforting than having anyone else.

I lowered my elbows so I was on my stomach again. I then rolled over so that I was lying on my back. I stretched my arms outwards so that they were at full length. I look back at Gale, who's now upside-down. He's really sitting against the wall, smirking down at me.

"You look like a cat," Gale remarked, and even at this angle I can tell he's half smiling at my antics.

"Hey!" I say, turning back over onto my stomach. "No, I don't."

"Maybe they chose Prim and that girl from District 11 together," said Gale, and I realize he's still on this. "Two twelve year old girls from the outer two districts, likely to form an alliance. That would really make for some good television, huh?"

...There was an eerie silence in which we both assessed the possibility that the Capitol really did have that absolute control over its districts and the lives of its citizens.

"The things we say could get us executed, Gale," I say, finally. I glance towards the door, almost expecting District 12 Peacekeepers to come in and rip us apart, like they had in the Justice Building with my mother and Prim. I really did not want that. Was everything we were saying now being listened to?

"The things we do _would_ get us executed," he responds quietly. He stands up abruptly.

"Are you fidgety too?" I ask, following him to my feet. I know that my sleep had been fitful; I'd been growing more and more anxious with each day away from home and in anticipation of what I knew was to come.

Gale sighs. "A bit. I don't know. Let's watch some television."

I laugh at this, but it seems a little forced. "Gale Hawthorne, you can really confuse a person, you know that?" And I know how true it is. As much as I knew him, probably more than anyone, Gale still managed to surprise me. I could only imagine how he could appear to others.

Gale turns back to look at me. "And you couldn't?"

"Not quite like you could," I answer dryly, not quite buying it that I was that convoluted a person. I watched as he went over to wall-sized television. He picked up the small device that worked it, but it was made up of so many dials and buttons I don't think he knew which was the right one to turn on the television. He stared at the remote a long while before deciding he had no idea how to work it.

"I have no idea how to work it," Gale said finally.

"I'm sure you can figure it out," I answered from over my shoulder, walking over to the main table where we ate all of our meals. There was a bowl of fruit set out. There were some bizarre fruits in there that I did not even know existed, anywhere. I steered clear of those, and chose the orange. There were some strawberries in the bowl, and I thought of Madge and how much she loved them. They were cut to look like hearts. I selected a half of a strawberry and turned it over and over in my hand. I missed Madge.

"_And it looks like it will be another beautiful day here in the Capitol…"_

"Gale, I don't think that's the Games," I say, brought back to where I was. I replaced the strawberry in the bowl and decided that the orange was the one I'd have.

"Hey, at least I turned it on!"

"_-making Bourguignon, which, with the addition of green aromatic vegetables, intensifies its flavor…"_

"Gale!"

"What is an aromatic vegetable anyway?" I hear him ask this. I just roll my eyes at the question as I make my way to where he is fiddling with the remote control, maybe thinking I could somehow help him.

"Well, I'll be sure to ask my mother."

It's slipped out of my mouth before I can think about it. It hits me harder than I should. _Wait_. How was I going to ask my mother that particular question? There was no way I could do that. I may not even be able to speak to her again... I felt my insides clench with a renewed onslaught of grief. I'd somehow eased into easy conversation with Gale and forgotten just where I was…again….

Starkly oblivious to what is going on with me, Gale continues. "Bet you she doesn't even know. Aromatic vegetables, are they vegetables made to smell like flowers or something? Only in the Capitol would they come up with something like that..."

Gale was handling this transition easier than me, it seemed. I took a step back from where he was. He still transfixed with the blue-haired woman in the culinary program, sauntering over towards an oven... _How could he?_ I felt my fingers tighten around the orange in my hands, and I felt I was losing it, in my inner struggle.

"_-at a temperature of three hundred and fifty degrees for the allotted time, and once you remove it from your oven allow it at least half an hour to sit…"_

"Well surely it wouldn't still smell like flowers after all that, don't you think?" asked Gale, voicing another question meaning to be rhetorical. "Talk about overcooked…gyaaah!"

Gale turned around quickly to look at me. His escalating voice brought me out of it. His silver eyes betrayed an emotion of his...he seemed...irritated, and demanding of an explanation. Mine just looked upon his in confusion, wondering what kind of explanation I was supposed to provide...

"You just got…what is this?" Gale began. "Orange juice… _on me_!"

He ran his fingers through his sticky hair in annoyance. I look down to see that my right hand was just peel and pulp. I'd completely decimated the orange in my grasp.

"I'm sorry Gale, I'm just…agghhh!" I say, growing increasingly indignant. I seemed to lack the ability to now explain my expulsion of anger, but couldn't Gale see for himself why I was upset? I threw my fists to my sides in indignant anger. "I hate the television, I hate the Hunger Games, I hate the Capitol, I _hate this…_"

"And you hate that orange too?"

"YES!" I exclaim, glaring at the decrepit remains of what I'd been clutching in my hand, and throwing it to the floor. "I hate this orange too!"

There's a few seconds of silence, Gale watching me carefully as his smirk slowly appeared on his face.

"Okay, I don't hate the orange," I say, finally, now feeling bad that I'd made a mess of it. I actually really liked oranges. I sat on the couch, and I let my head fall. I felt a little ashamed of how visibly I was letting all this get to me, and Gale having to witness it.

"Don't take it out on it then," said Gale, shrugging, walking over to the table and towards the bowl of fruit himself.

"What are you doing?" I ask, turning my head to see what he was doing.

He held an orange in his hand, and then to me almost as if it was in demonstration.

"You see," says Gale, peeling away at the orange. "If you want to effectively destroy something…"

Gale expertly peeled the orange, and fast, almost as if he was skinning an animal. He let the peel fall to the floor among everything else.

"You must first infiltrate."

He then squeezed the peeled orange as hard as he can. With only a millisecond of force and pressure, the juice splattered everywhere. This is including in my face, which had been very near and was given no reaction time to be covered with my hands.

"Gale!" I cry, sputtering and re-opening my eyes. "What was that for?"

"That was for getting it in my hair. What will Portia say?"

"Like you care."

"You're right, I don't."

I laugh a little, and when I refocus on Gale, I see that he is studying me intently. "What?" I ask, turning my head slightly to the left.

"You are okay, right?" asked Gale, and when he scrunched his eyebrows together like that, I knew that he was actually being solicitous.

I gave him a small smile in reassurance. "I'll be alright," I respond, and I mean it. Gale knows the exact approach to take with me when he knows I've gotten upset about something. I lick the juice from the orange off of my upper lip and then from in between my fingers.

"You really look like a cat now," remarked Gale, ridding his hands of orange guts.

"_And now, back to the coverage of this year's Hunger Games…"_

Forgetting how I would retort to that, Gale and I's ears perk up at the words "Hunger Games", something they've naturally grown to listen for…

"Oh Gale, you got orange on the screen…"

"Pretty sure that was you…"

Gale sat down on the sofa beside me. We continue to talk as we watch a replay of last night's ceremony. The stylists for District 1 are being interviewed, and I realize that this must have taken place a few days ago for it to be playing now.

"_This year's costumes reflect the superiority that this district has always held. The sureness and confidence in which Glimmer and Marvel may walk_."

"Thank all that is good that our stylists are not like that," I say, observing this man on the screen and his countenance, and hearing his nasally voice. The caption reads that he is this girl's, Glimmer, stylist. His name is Emerett Lauduvré. I'd even heard his name from before, he's been a stylist in the Games for many years.

"How's Cinna?" asks Gale, still watching the television.

"He's…" I began, but then realized that I wasn't so sure how to. "Well, besides being a pyromaniac? Actually, I think he's pretty cool. He at least knows what he's talking about. Knew how to capture the audience's attention at least. I really thought he'd be shallow but he doesn't seem like that to me."

I realize this is all because I'd decided to give him a chance, and I hoped Gale would too.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding my head. Now I am sure. "You can even tell by the way he speaks that he wasn't born here."

This particular comment catches Gale's interest, as I knew it would. "Where was he born?" he asks me curiously.

I just laugh at the precision with which I could predict Gale's actions and words. "Wouldn't say. But wouldn't it be something if he came from Twelve? I mean, he told me he actually _asked_ to be a stylist for this district."

"That would be something," Gale agreed, turning back to the television and actually smiling.

This station is biased, and only focusing on District One, so Gale uses the remote to try to find another channel with raw footage of the opening ceremonies with all the districts. We wanted to see the other tributes and how they fared with the ratings. We catch one channel that is in the middle of the coverage of the ceremonies, and we decide to keep that one on.

"_And District Four, they are like fish, yes, I get it…"_

"These announcers," Gale snickers, transfixed with their image on the screen. The two men, Claudius and a man named Caesar Flickerman, are sitting at a desk. They are this year's commentators. Claudius has hair that is styled in an up-do, and Caesar Flickerman is all in blue from his suit to the tips of his hair.

"Hey, his makeup matches yours," I reply, elbowing Gale. I was referring to Flickerman. I pick up a copy of today's newspaper that had been set on the end table, and hold it in front of Gale. On the front page, taking up almost the entirety, is a picture of the two of us from last night's ceremony. My finger goes to the quality close-up of Gale's face. His smile almost looks genuine, and the image has nearly all of the beauty of last night, his being adorned in blue flame.

Gale swats the newspaper out of my hands, and it falls to the floor in front us. "Very funny." I laugh again.

"Well well well, aren't my two favorite troublemakers in good moods this morning?"

I turn around to see that Haymitch was up, and had entered the room without our knowing. We immediately sober up at the sight of our mentor.

"I heard about the little stunt you pulled at the Remake Center, kid," says Haymitch, his eyes narrowing at Gale in particular. "Don't think I wouldn't."

"So what if you did?" answered Gale, getting to his feet. Not quite at Haymitch's level, he still held his head high. "I still wore your garb. Or should I say garbage? I still put on a show for you people. And you know what?" Gale sneered. "I did a pretty damn good job of it."

"Alright, guys," I say, rising to my feet. "Gale," I say, looking to him sternly. I could see how steeply this was escalating already. I stood in between them so that, perhaps, I could dispel the tension.

"I'll admit you did," said Haymitch, putting his hands behind his back to show he intended no fight. "But that doesn't mean that back here, when you're not on _that_," Haymitch motioned significantly to the wall screen television, "that you can do whatever the hell you want."

Gale did not take to being told what to do by Haymitch _at all_, especially after hearing from his own mouth that his performance last night had been more like satisfactory. "I _can _do what I want! What does it matter when I'm already here? They can't do anything more to me!"

"Now listen kid, it may not always affect just you. You don't how they play…"

"You called me 'kid' again!" Gale shouted, drawing his right fist now. I held back his arm so this conflict did not become physical, but Gale was stronger than I was. "And do enlighten me, with what you could have possibly gathered about how 'they play!'"

Haymitch let out a low growl, now coming closer to Gale and, subsequently, to me in belligerence. "Kid, you really don't know anything…"

"ALRIGHT!" I scream, throwing my arms in between and this shuts them both up long enough for me to get two words in. "You," I say, turning to Haymitch and pointing my finger and bringing it to his chest. Despite our difference in height, I was undaunted. "Gale won't listen to you if he feels he's being talked down to. I know that much about him. Speak to him as you would an equal. We should be just that, even if he has done nothing to deserve it."

I then turned to Gale, and I felt the anger surging within me intensify to an even higher degree. "Gale, you have to accept that Haymitch is our mentor, and the only one we've got. You know what Haymitch means when he says, "it may not always affect just you?" Well, you're not only just setting yourself up for failure, you're setting _me _up for that too, you know! Even if you care that little about yourself and your own chances, the least you could do is think of me!"

Haymitch seems pleased with this particular prospect. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, seemingly smug about something. "Both such fiery little pot-stirrers." He mumbled something else under his breath, but I could hear what it was he'd said. I made no reply, but crossed my arms as well, waiting to see how he would respond. I did not look to see how Gale had taken to what I had said, because I knew in my mind that he would reveal not one flicker of anything if this man remained in the room. So I waited for Haymitch to say something.

But Haymitch made no response. With no prelude, Haymitch turned his back to us and headed back towards the door from which he had come. I watched him as he left, eying the man apprehensively but…still remaining unable to decipher anything in his words or movements…the way he looked at us even…

I heard the slight sound of a shuffling behind Gale and I, and I spun around to see that a redheaded Avox girl had entered the suite from the opposite side. In her hands she held a dustpan and a broom. I could see that she was moving towards the mess of oranges that we'd made on the floor in front of the television, which in everything I'd honestly forgotten about.

I felt overcome with a sudden wave of raw guilt, and I went towards the girl on the clear intent on helping her clean up. Gale didn't move from where he stood, but turned away from Haymitch to watch the silent echange between the Avox girl and I, as even with pleading eyes she had no choice but to consent to my aiding her.

"You look familiar…" Gale began, his eyes meeting, like a long lost loved one, with the ones of the Avox.

Gale and I heard Haymitch say, as his last words, from the doorway, "Watch your tongues, you two…while you still have them."

* * *

><p><strong>[AN] **Thank you for reading! Leave me a review if you would like... :3 or a PM if you're interested in becoming a beta or if you want to submit art for the cover of this fanfiction.

Why Katniss cocked her head to the left with a question, I believe that people can either be right or left-brained, and I believe Katniss to be left and Gale to be right. Look it up if you want.

"The young man lies alone but fastened into the ground,  
>The sound of fleeing feet and the crying eye will be his last sound."<p>

Bye! :D

-Alice


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